JORAD
by Tatooine92
Summary: Rogue Fett returns for one more adventure in this sequel to Memory and Fett'ad. I OWN NOTHING except Rogue!
1. Introduction

_A/N: You're probably thinking "Wow! A sequel already?!" Well, when you RP the plot, you end up with a lot of material to use. chuckle Thanks, JS, for writing up Chev's journal. I have no idea what I would do without you. XD --T92_

* * *

**Introduction**

_[[Datapad of Chevron Fett, circa 1 ABY. Two entries._

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_[Entry One Begins._

_Seventeen years . . . where does the time go? It was seventeen years ago that I was brought back to life by the Empire, seventeen years since I was rescued by my wife-to-be, my _Ro'ika_, and seventeen years since I remembered who I am. I am Chevron Fett, formerly ARC Theta-636, killed in action on Geonosis. My chest still hurts from time to time, but as long as Rogue is with me, I'm happy._

_Of course, those seventeen years have been one wild whirlwind . . . After a couple weeks of honeymooning on _Manda'yaim_, Rogue decided that we start making our way. As a way to get back at her backstabbing brother Boba, she decided to get me acquainted with hunt sabotage. Of course, her being a former bounty hunter, it was easy for her to make the switch. But I'm a fast learner. We all were._

_So we're heading off to tackle stopping Boba and scum like him. Haven't had word from Lar since she and the Deltas left to keep running around with the Rebellion. However, I don't know if they helped have anything to do with the Death Star going boom in the Yavin system. I wouldn't be surprised if they had some hand in it. But, then again, Larra was acting a little strange last time I saw her, so I don't know._

_Nar Shaddaa will be our next stop. Hopefully, there'll be work for two hunt saboteurs with a grudge against Boba Fett . . . one being his sister, the other his very literal brother. Look out, _Bo'ika _. . . we're coming for you._

_[Entry One Ends._

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_[Entry Two begins; one month after Entry One._

_Jobs are flowing in pretty well. Lots of bounty marks like being alive, and they need passage to keep them safe. That's where we come in. _

_Most just run to opposition camps, like Hutt underlings running to the Corporate Sector, or Imperial to independent or the Rebels. It's a good thing both Rogue and I have at least some skill with a hydrospanner, otherwise three-quarters of upgrades we've done on our ship would have sent us up to the great training field in the sky, and our fees with it._

_So far, though, we haven't gotten a chance to outrun Boba. Dengar we've outsmarted once or twice, Bossk at least three, and other small-timers a few times. I'm always glancing out the rear monitor, wondering when the day would come when we'd see the _Slave I_ shrink behind us as we escape, victorious over the mighty Boba Fett, the so-called best bounty hunter in the galaxy. That will be a day I will always remember._

_But, until then, we keep dodging the smaller names until we get someone on the run from Boba. We build our base, we keep the _Chevron_ in prime condition, and we keep our skills sharp. Anyone sympathetic to the Rebels get priority, for Larra and the Delta boys' sakes. We help them who cannot help themselves._

_Anyway, tonight, we're heading to Nar Shaddaa again; we're making quite a name for ourselves, Rogue and I. Hopefully, we'll find somebody who needs to run, and run fast. We're ready. We'll always be ready, whatever comes._

_[Entry Two Ends._


	2. Sabotage

**Chapter One – Sabotage **

Let me tell you right now that Nar Shaddaa is not my favorite place in the galaxy. What with all the dirt and grime and folks who can do nothing but suffer . . . If most of the money Chev and I make didn't have to go to keeping the _Chevron_ flying, I'd start a charity fund for the residents of the Smuggler's Moon. I think the place I hate the worst is the Refugee Sector; it seems like every refugee from every war this galaxy's ever had ends up there eventually only to live in squalor and misery. But Nar Shaddaa is also home to dozens of folks who've got bounties on their heads but who wish they didn't. It's this syndrome called "I _like_ being alive!" And if they want to escape somewhere where nobody will hunt them anymore, then I suppose seeing the _Chevron_ dock is something of a sign from heaven.

_Su'cuy_ again. Rogue Fett here, seventeen years older and seventeen years wiser. This is the future I'd mentioned last time. Chev and I are now hunt saboteurs, but I think I always was one. I say this because when Vader had me in his service, I _never_ killed my marks unless they tried to kill me first. Instead, I'd help 'em escape then go back and claim their bounties. Hunt sabotage is a great deal like that, but instead of getting paid by the folks who post the bounties, we get paid by the bounty marks for safe transport to another part of the 'verse. A lot of them are dirt poor, which means we don't get paid a whole lot, but we've run across a couple really rich marks who were so grateful for the assist that their payment paid our ship repair costs and food bills for a few months. But you know Chev and me; since we're _Mando'ade_, we practice pretty strict frugality. Every credit goes as far as possible, and it's for that reason that we have a good deal of cash stashed away in a savings account on _Manda'yaim_. It's for a rainy day, you might say. Technically, we're pretty rich folks, but since we don't act it or spend the money, we've taken to living on something of a paycheck-to-paycheck arrangement. But that's not so bad. It's just the two of us, and we don't eat _that_ much.

"How's Larra and the gang?" you may ask. Well, I'll tell it straight: I have no idea. I haven't seen her or the others for most of the seventeen years Chev and I have been married. They're so busy with the Rebellion that they rarely go home to our shared house back on _Manda'yaim_. But then again, we haven't been home, either. I guess I keep hoping we'll run into her during a sabotage run, and I know Chev does, too. He misses his brothers and sister, and I can tell that even when he doesn't say anything. He's what you might call the strong, silent type—heavy on the strong, heavy on the silent. But he's my husband, so I'm required to love him no matter what. Though what's funny is that I would even if it weren't a requirement!

Now, back to Nar Shaddaa. Two days planet-side, and business was off to a bad start. It seemed as if nobody wanted to escape with their necks! And if they would prefer being dead, then they can go right ahead. But if they do that, then we don't eat, we don't keep the ship flying, and we don't keep our gear in tip-top shape. And then if somebody else decided they liked living, we wouldn't be around to help. It's really a win-win situation for everyone except the arrogant creeps who put out the bounties and the scum who do the hunting. And if we can make a bounty hunter go hungry, then that'd be just fine by me! It isn't like they don't have enough on store, anyway.

The second night we were on the moon, I was almost faint with boredom. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed being on the move; that's just a quirky side effect of my nature, so please, have no fear. But I was bored out of my kriffin' skull; after all, there's only so many rifles you can polish until you never want to look at another. So I convinced Chev to take me out, and late that night, we headed down to the local cantina for a relaxing glass of seltzer. He agreed rather readily (I think he was getting bored, too), so we headed on down. Of course, I have this little complex that I jokingly call the "must sabotage hunts complex," so even though we entered the cantina looking for a quiet night, I automatically started searching for potential marks who needed a quick getaway. I'm pretty sure Chev saw what I was doing, since, after all, we've been married so long that we can read each other like books, so he grabbed my arm and dragged me off to the bar to get something to drink. I think the line he gave me was "No working on your night off" or something. Well, Chev, honey, I hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as a "night off" in this line of work. I didn't tell him this, of course, because if there's one thing I've learned as a wife, it's to be uplifting and supportive and _never_ put down on Hubby. Nonetheless, I sighed and let him put a glass of seltzer in my hand because I didn't like to disappoint him. He took a _very_ small mug of ale, and as soon as I knew he wasn't watching me, I let myself look around the cantina again. Call me obsessed with my job, but personal experience makes me more than willing to keep folks out of the dirty grasps of bounty hunters everywhere. How's _that_ for an ultimatum?

After thirty, maybe forty minutes and three sips from my seltzer, it was nearing eleven—that's twenty-three hundred hours to those of you using a military clock. I was just about ready to head back to the _Chevron_ and call it a day, but then someone at the other end of the bar caught my attention. It was a young woman, maybe seventeen, and boy, did she look familiar! In fact, she seemed so familiar in the dim light and heavy shadows that I jumped with surprise and reached over to pat Chev's arm.

"Hey," I asked quietly, eyes glued to the girl, "d'you see her?"

He glanced around the cantina, obviously looking for somebody who looked more like a bounty mark. After a moment, he sighed and looked at me.

"Nope, no signs," he said, and I silently rolled my eyes. "Besides, who're we looking for, anyway?"

I sighed and motioned down the bar to where the girl still stood, sipping at a glass of water. Now I saw that she had brown hair and bronze eyes, but even with that, she still looked familiar!

"_Her_, Chev," I said. "Doesn't she look . . . well, _familiar_? I mean, I almost thought it was Larra for a minute."

Had it indeed been Larra, I wouldn't have wasted a moment in running over and enveloping her in an "Oh, Force, where have you been?!" hug. Chev straightened and turned to look, his gaze _finally_ latching onto the girl with her floppy hair and glinting eyes that stood in stark contrast to the darkness of the part of the cantina she was in. For a minute, he simply stared in a manner which, I've noticed, is quite common among us Fetts.

"Um . . ." he said slowly, sounding bewildered, "I actually think you may be right . . . But her hair's the wrong color, and the eyes . . . Nah, can't be related."

"Well, maybe not," I conceded despite the fact that she still looked mighty familiar to me. "But . . . Huh, she looks a bit upset. Think we should go ask about it? Never know if there's a hunt to be sabotaged . . ."

Yep, the ol' must sabotage hunts complex was kicking in again. I grinned at Chev as I slid on down the bar. Chev tried to stop me, but I was already halfway down. I guess he thought I was sticking my nose into someplace it shouldn't be. I was nearly at the girl's side when she noticed me.

"Who the _fierfek_ are you?" she asked, and I felt almost hopeful. _Fierfek_ may have been a Huttese word, but most folks who used it were Mando. I smiled pleasantly.

"Depending on your situation, I could be a friend or not. Thought you looked a little troubled. Buy you a drink?"

I motioned to the wide array of beverages behind the bar as I settled myself on the stool directly beside her. Chev came up behind me, and I figured he would be carefully watching every move I made. One stupid move, and he'd probably get all over my case for blowing it.

"As for formalities," I continued, "I'm Rogue Fett, hunt saboteur. You'd be . . . ?"

"No drinks," the girl replied, answering my original offer. Inside, I was glad she'd turned me down. It was always good to know just who I could be working with. "And all I'm willing to tell you, Rogue Fett, is that my name is Lae." Here she paused, eyeing me quite carefully as if she was either sizing me up or trying to decide who I was before I got to tell her. "Fett . . . interesting . . ."

I shrugged a bit; no doubt she was equating me to, eh, my _brother_. A quick mathematical calculation told me he was probably in his early thirties by now; well, thirties or no, forgiveness or no, he was still an _aruetyc_ rodent! But I brushed that off and nodded in reply to her one bit of information.

"Fair enough," I told her. "I've never called myself much of a pushy person, anyway." At that, there was a muffled sigh from Chev that I _knew_ meant he thought I was being pretty pushy as it was. I turned and tossed him a glare. "Hush, you."

Turning back to Lae, I sighed and jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at him.

"This is Chev," I told her, "my . . . partner in preventing crime, as it were."

"Preventing . . ." Chev muttered. For the first time in his life, he probably thought I was a total idiot.

He sighed again as Lae looked at him a minute, studying him, before turning her scrutinizing glance to me. I knew what she was looking at. She was studying my armor, my posture, Jango's old twin Westar-34 blasters holstered on my hips . . . No doubt she thought I, too, was a bounty hunter out to get her. By eyeing me warily, she gave herself away; I could totally tell she was on the run from someone. She arched an eyebrow, still watching me.

"_Preventing_ crime?" she asked. "How could someone like _you_ be—Uh, oh . . ."

Her gaze flicked over to the cantina door, and my gaze followed. My eyes went wide when I saw who was standing there, wearing a familiar helmet and cradling a familiar EE-3 blaster rifle. My stomach turned a somersault as the hairs on the back of my neck rose on end, and the cantina went deathly still as he sauntered in. My fists clenched as my gaze locked on him, and he turned when he saw me; I could've sworn a sadistic smile was creeping onto his face beneath that helmet as his gaze turned to Lae.

Boba Fett, clone of our father, my worse half.

And now he was out to get Lae.

Well, _osik_.


	3. The Rodent Returneth

**Chapter Two – The Rodent Returneth**

When Boba walked through the cantina door, my first thought was "Run! In the name of all that's good, _run_!" I like running, actually—_especially_ when the one I'm running from happens to be my traitorous younger brother to whom I have no blood relations, but, well, _aliit ori'shya tal'din_, right? Right?! Ahem.

As Boba ambled into the cantina, clanking and jingling with every step from all the gear he was hauling, the cantina patrons scattered out of fear. They knew who'd just walked in, and I was willing to bet that more than one of them had a bounty on _their_ head, too. Beside me, Lae went pale as Boba's gaze remained locked on her. I stepped out in front of her, checking for my knife in its secret sheath on the underside of my gauntlet. I could tell that Lae was on the run from _him_, and for the time being, I put my grudge as far from my mind as I could. The saying says to "forgive and forget," but I'll be darned if that's not next to impossible to do. Forgive, yes. Forget, no. Try to convince an angry ex-ARC not to hold an equally powerful grudge . . . let us not even deal with _that_ level of impossibility.

"Get out of here, Boba," I growled, eyeing him steadily. "There're no targets for you to take today."

_Not while I'm still breathing,_ I added mentally. He just tilted his head at me.

"Rogue, you wouldn't possibly know who I've got my sights on," he said smugly, and I realized with absolute horror that his voice had become _exactly_ like _Jang'buir_'s in all the years we were apart. He glanced at Lae, and every muscle in my body tensed as he adjusted his grip on his rifle. "But I hadn't thought I'd see _you_ out again, '_ori'vod_.' Still hunting?"

"Not a chance," I hissed, trying desperately to ignore his patronizing use of the word _ori'vod_. "You think I'd _ever_ want to be bloodthirsty scum like _YOU_?"

Score one for the begrudged elder sibling! I leveled him with one of my famous death ray glares, this time actually hoping that rays of doom would shoot out of my eyeballs and relieve him of his pathetic, scum-sucking, bloodthirsty life. Well, nothing happened, of course, but I figured that if those "rays of doom" weren't going to come from me, then they would certainly come from Chev. Beside me, he had turned into an absolute statue, face steeled, jaw so tight I could see a tiny muscle twitch occasionally. I will tell you right now that that was the only time I was ever afraid of my husband. _That_, my friends, was his ARC blood shining through in full spectrum, not to mention the pure-bred Mandalorian blood coursing through his veins. There was this _look_—a raging fire—in his eyes that I'd only seen once or twice, though Larra had described it to me in grand detail. Mentally, I worried Boba would be too easy a challenge for him since Chev was known to break an arm with one hand; I knew this because I'd seen him do it. Let's just say there was this low-end bounty hunter who thought his mark wasn't leaving with us.

"Get out, Boba," Chev snarled, reaching for the top-quality ARC-style pistol holstered on his hip. "You're not welcome."

Lae cringed a bit behind me, obviously trying to hide. I didn't know why, but I felt this undeniable need to protect her at all costs. Maybe it was because my brother was the one threatening her, or maybe it was because she still seemed so familiar to me. Part of me wanted to look at Chev and say, "_Now_ do you think I'm an idiot for wanting to know if she was wanted?" I just kept my mouth shut in spite of that, though, as I glanced behind me to Lae.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I'm not about to let him take ya. I happen to be in the business of preventing such scum from executing whatever nasty plans they have."

Slowly, I flexed my wrist, reveling in the familiar sound of my knife scraping the inside of its metal sheath. Ohh, come to Mama, baby! Ahem. Chev leveled Boba with such a hate-filled glare that I no longer felt the need to do so myself. I figured he was shooting enough death rays for the two of us. Boba just chuckled, seemingly quite unthreatened by us but very amused by the one or two stragglers in the cantina. Yet all he had to do was glance at them and they beat it for fear he'd shoot them next.

"No, Rogue, you can't be like this forever," Boba sighed. "Sooner or later you're going to reach a point where you won't be able to protect the sorry losers I hunt."

"I thought you were serving at Vader's heel, you _aruetii_," I spat. "Shouldn't you be out keeping his helmet shiny?"

Boba growled angrily at me; score two for the begrudged elder sibling! He took a few more steps, this time headed for me instead of Lae. It seemed as if he wanted to eliminate me and then take his little bounty, but there was no way in that galaxy that I was gonna let that happen. For starters, I'd gotten quite used to being alive, and for another thing, I had not failed a sabotage mission yet. Besides, I honestly doubted that Boba would be able to kill me, since, as soon as he took those few steps toward me, Chev was up and halfway across the cantina in a couple long strides. He wrenched his pistol out and aimed it squarely at the visor of Boba's helmet, eyes flashing angrily.

_Oh, Boba, are you in for it now,_ I thought.

"I thought I said _get out_," Chev said, his voice so calm yet firm and threatening that a shiver raced up and down my spine.

Boba turned slightly, and instead of looking as if fear had been driven into his heart with a steel spike, he actually looked amused, even with that helmet! I narrowed my eyes at him, irritated by his arrogant audacity.

"Your tactics are entertaining, Theta," he chuckled, "but if you haven't been listening to the HoloNet, I'll tell you what's been going on. That one—" He pointed directly at Lae, who still cowered behind me. "—escaped Vader several years ago. I had her, took her in. The Emperor himself oversaw her . . . _treatment_ at _Lusankya_."

Well, there was a name I had hoped I'd never hear as long as I breathed. Needless to say, I cringed—and visibly, too. Boba looked at me as if he'd noticed before continuing.

"And then her little family—cute group, them—came for her. She got away again, and now I'm after _my_ bounty."

_Not so long as I'm around, _aruetii I felt like screaming.

Never had I been filled with such animosity toward my brother—well, except maybe for the time that he, y'know, shot me in the side then hauled me off to the Imps. I'd still like to have a word with whoever came up with the saying "Let bygones be bygones." Okay, so maybe I hadn't forgiven him as much as I'd thought I had! I suppose that it was this reason that caused me to lunge across the room toward him. My foot connected with his chestplate, sending him to the ground, and I followed that up by pouncing on his chest and pressing my knife up underneath his helmet right where I knew his throat was.

"You lay a hand on her," I warned, "and I'll kill you."

"I doubt you've the guts."

Ooh, that did it. He mad me _mad_. I pressed my knife harder and heard a faint choking noise from him. Well, too bad. I'd been betrayed by him once, and that was one time too many! It was high time for him to _pay_ for the dirtbag he'd become. But apparently my anger wasn't enough, because Chev got involved. And why? Boba had used his old prefix against him. I turned in time to see his dark eyes gleam with rage, and he stormed over to where I was pinning Boba, lightly shoved me aside, and grabbed Boba almost by his collar. I glanced back to see Lae slide off her stool and start crawling for the exit; I nodded with approval. Good girl; you just get out of here and leave this _di'kut_ to us. Chev glared _hard_ at Boba (who was still clutching his rifle, I might add, and was reaching for the trigger) before daring to speak.

"You _NEVER_ use that to refer to me, do you understand?" he said, his voice low and growling. When Boba didn't reply, Chev punched him so hard that his helmet went flying off. And that, ladies and gents, was the ARC course on extreme cases. "I SAID _DO YOU UNDERSTAND_?!"

He let Boba go, but I got to him again, taking him down with my full weight and planting myself upon his chest. Once again, my knife was at his throat; I figured if we kept this up, Chev would get his lifelong dream of kicking Boba Fett's _shebs_ from here to the next millennium. I glared down at Boba, trying to hide my shock at seeing his face for the first time in seventeen years. Sure, I'd known he was _Jang'buir_'s only unaltered clone (not counting Larra, because she's _special_; long story, so ask her about it some time), and I knew he'd someday take on every single one of Jango's features, but I'd never expected that face to be looking back at me again. Even with Chev, he still looked a bit different. He didn't look like an exact replica, but with Boba . . . with him, it was like I had attacked my own father. As weird as that sounds, it was true. In the split second before I came back to my senses, I wondered where in the galaxy the adorable kid who had been my brother had gone. But then I realized just what the situation was, and I glared at him.

"Now," I said, making my voice quiet but deadly, "normally I'd tell him to lay off, but considering who you are and what you just called him, I'll instead tell _you_ to lay off. You do _not_ speak to my husband in that tone . . . _Bobie_."

_Score three for the begrudged elder sibling!_ I knew he hated that nickname more than anything besides me, obviously, and that, dear friends, is why I used it: because I am just rotten like that. Beneath me, Boba growled in anger and frustration as he tried to wriggle out from under me, but I kept myself firmly situated on his chest. The way I figured it, he owed Chev and me for his part in making our lives living hells, so he would pay for that. But he looked up and saw Lae trying to sneak out the back.

"She's not getting away!" he hollered, lifting his arm.

Before I could even react (yes, he moved _that_ quickly), he shot a long, sturdy wire from his wrist (the same trick _Jang'buir_ used to use, I noticed) and trussed Lae up even from that distance. Behind me, Lae yelped and began struggling to reach her belt, and I jumped off Boba's chest just as Chev flew at him, letting into him as if there was no tomorrow. And I thought Larra could hit hard . . . Well, she can, but get Chev angry enough and he can literally bash your face in. He slowed for a split second to come around with a different punch, and in that short amount of time, Boba leaped to his feet and came after Chev. Well, I was right there, and I slashed a nice, deep gash across his cheek. He turned around, glaring, before Chev tackled him again. The two of them went at it as I wrenched a second knife from my boot and brought them both crashing down on the wire that had Lae all wrapped up (literally) and that was still connected to Boba. It sliced cleanly in two, showering us all with tiny orange sparks.

"LAE!" I called. "If you can get yourself untangled, get your _shebs_ out of here, okay?!"

She looked at me for one second before whipping out a lightsaber, of all things. Flipping it on, she somehow managed to bring its navy blade around and slice through the wires holding her stationary. Then she started running for the exit as fast as she could. I only had a moment to stare at the fact that she'd pulled out a kriffin' _lightsaber_ because Boba managed to scramble out from under Chev and heft his rifle. I couldn't react before he popped off several stun shots, all aimed for Lae. She crumpled instantly, and I lunged for Boba, coming down on his back. I grabbed the back of his head in my hand, wrapping my fingers around his hair before pounding his face into the cantina floor. I wasn't just irritated that he'd sauntered in to try to take a bounty, but now every bit of hostility I'd ever stored up toward him was coming out. I growled at him as my hair tumbled into my eyes and sweat beaded on my forehead.

"Somehow . . ." I began, and each word after that was paired with one slam of his head into the hard floor. "I think you would've . . . come out better . . . if you hadn't . . . been . . . Jango's . . . freakin' . . . clone!"

His head must've been spinning like a planet in its orbit by then, but he still managed to reach back and throw me off. He slung me across the cantina, and I went careening into a table, lying there, dazed, for a couple seconds before scrambling to my feet. But just as I made a run at him, he shot a stun bolt in my direction. I managed to dodge enough of it so that it only struck my shoulder, but even that knocked it off my feet. I glanced over and saw Lae lying near the back door, and I realized that, for the first time, I'd actually failed. I wasn't unconscious, but I certainly couldn't move for a few minutes. Chev tried to grab Boba again, but Boba ducked under his arm and made a dash for his "prey." Well, Chev wouldn't stand for that. He flew at Boba and tackled him, bringing his full weight down _hard_ onto Boba. I happen to know that Chev weighs almost a hundred and ninety pounds even though almost all is muscle, and that is one heck of a lot to have slamming into you at full speed.

"Rogue!" he shouted at me as I shook off the stunner. "Get her out of here! Go!"

I nodded and jumped to my feet, running for Lae. I was almost there when I heard Boba's rifle fire, and the next second, there were three stun bolts making full contact with me. I sank to one knee, blinking as my vision went fuzzy. Turning slightly, I glared at Boba.

"You are one helluva traitor," I told him simply before I passed out cold.

* * *

Having deftly removed his sister from the fight, Boba turned back to the current conflict with the big ex-ARC sitting atop him. Quickly, he dug his fist into Chevron's shoulder, reaching for the nerve bundle there that would make him loosen his grip. Chevron shrugged him off, but Boba tried again, smirking a bit.

"I've got them both," he said coolly. "Care to make it an even three?"

Chevron just clamped his hands around Boba's neck, seeming quite determined to choke him to death like the traitor he was.

"Never," he growled, his grip tightening.

Gasping under the sudden pressure around his trachea, Boba flailed a moment before somehow wrenching away the armor plate that protected Chevron's abdomen. Then, twisting, he brought his knee slamming into the now-unprotected midsection, delivering a crushing blow to Chevron's solar plexus. Struggling to inhale, Chevron fell backward, and Boba scrambled out from beneath him before bringing the butt of his rifle slamming down across the back of the ARC's head. Chevron went down, and Boba stood before retrieving his helmet and slipping it back into the place. He glanced over at Rogue and Lae, who lay unconscious not more than five feet apart. Shaking his head with feigned pity, he sighed.

"Oh, it's a shame. I'd hoped this would be easier . . . Either that or you would've put up a better fight."

Not wasting a second, he scooped Lae up, slung her carelessly over his shoulder, and headed out of the cantina and down the street toward the landing pad on which the _Slave I_ was docked. Of course, the trouble with that was that while Chevron may have been down, he was most certainly not out. Though the back of his head throbbed and he was more than a little winded, he somehow managed to drag himself to his feet and knock his missing armor plate back in. He cast only one look at Rogue; she'd be all right for the time being. Besides, he needed to stop that traitor brother of hers if at all possible.

Darting from the cantina, he raced down the street as fast as he knew how. But as he wheeled around a corner, arriving at the _Slave_'s landing pad, the bounty hunter's vessel took off from the ground and started racing for the sky. Chevron wasted no time. He ran at the ship, hefting a small metal object from his belt as he did: a tracking device. Somehow, it lodged on the ship's hull, and Chevron took one step back as he watched it go, a scowl on his face.

_Next time, Boba,_ he thought angrily.


	4. Trent

**Chapter Three – Trent**

I came to a couple minutes after the stun bolts hit home only to find myself in the dark, empty cantina. Suddenly, I realized what'd happened. Boba had gotten away and taken Lae with him, and probably Chev, too, if my luck was running particularly sour. I swore under my breath as I picked myself up and ran for the front entrance. Well, it was sort of a half-run, half-walk thing; I was still pretty beat up from slamming into a table _and_ getting shot by a trio of stun bolts. But eventually I got around a corner and saw a familiar someone in a familiar set of armor standing there and staring up at the night sky with fists clenched. There was this fading gleam of light up there that I just _knew_ was the _Slave I_. Needless to say, that burst my bubble right proper. All hail the great Rogue Fett, righter of wrongs, savior to the hunted! Yeah, _right_! Or maybe another phrase useful here would be "bantha _osik_." My first chance to sabotage the one and only Boba Fett's hunt, and I'd totally blown it. And, well, the fact that Lae had looked so darn familiar only made it worse. Had she been just your run-of-the-mill bounty mark, I might not have cared so much, but I did, so there. Leaning heavily back against the first wall I could find, I watched the _Slave_ go until I could no longer see the light from its engine.

"_Osi'kyr!_" I exclaimed, frustrated and more than a little angry at myself. "No, no. _Double osi'kyr!_ And a _haar'chak_!"

I exhaled heavily and reached back to massage my sore back; whatever stun bolts Boba had been using were powerful enough to penetrate armor, that was for sure. A moment or two later, Chev jogged over to me, having heard my dismayed cry. His hands reached me before he did, if that makes any sense. I guess he just wanted to keep me from falling over.

"Easy," he soothed. "He got you good. Got the kid, too."

Well, I certainly needed someone to lean on for support; I was feeling a mite weak, after all. Careening into bar tables and getting peppered with stunners isn't exactly my idea of a jolly good time. So, I slid willingly into his arms, sighing. He held me for a while, hands running over my backplate as if that would help. Well, it did make me feel all loved and everything, but it didn't do much for the guilt, fatigue, and dull, throbbing pain. Thanks anyway, baby.

"I know," I told him finally, meaning I knew that stupid brother of mine had taken Lae and made off for Vader. "Aches all over, heh. But . . ."

I looked up into his face before looking up at the sky; the _Slave_ was totally gone now. Still gazing upward, I breathed a sigh.

"Chev, I failed," I told him simply. "I failed this one. I've saved so many others . . . What was so different about this time?!"

"Hey, it happens!" he exclaimed, planting a quick, light kiss on my forehead. He knew how I was about guilt; one of our late-night conversations when we'd first been married had been on the subject of my post-Geonosis guilt. What fun. Not. "I wouldn't worry . . . excepting the kid's got the Emperor himself onto her . . ."

". . . _and_ she looks so much like Larra," I added. "Okay, we have to go after her. Go after her, find her, get her back. And do a little research on just why she's so 'valuable' to our . . . _beloved_ Emperor."

I scowled at that; I wanted to slit his throat if it was the last thing I ever did, and knowing the sharpshooters he kept as royal guards, it would be. But then again, I would always have the thought that Sev would snipe "his Excellency" from a distance to cheer me. Glancing at Chev, I brushed some loose hair from my face, tucking it behind my ears. _Note to self: Either let it grow long enough for a ponytail or buy barrettes!_

"This is gonna be hard to live down unless we get that girl and find out just _why_ I feel so keen on protecting her."

"It's pretty creepy for me, trust me," Chev replied. "I mean, she doesn't even _look_ like Lar . . . although her eyes remind me of Scorch, scarily."

"They do," I nodded. "It's like she's always laughing even when she's not." I sighed, looking in the direction of the landing pad the _Chevron_ occupied and feeling the need for beddy-bye. "Yeah. We're getting her back if only for a round of interrogation on her DNA."

I rolled my shoulders back, trying to work out any kinks, and started heading for the ship. Chev was right behind me, and I could tell he was exhausted, too. The way he exhaled heavily from time to time gave that away, though I'd have to ask him about the enormous knot on the back of his head . . . But I figured I wouldn't get the chance when he fished some bacta from his belt and nursed the obvious wound.

We were just about to make the curve toward the _Chevron_ when suddenly, there was the sound of hurried footsteps coming toward us. Chev and I stopped and started searching the shadows; who knew what sort of trouble could be lurking out there! But before long, a figure appeared nearby, running toward us. As he approached, I could tell he was wearing silver _Mandalorian_ armor with artistically placed streaks and splotches of black and red. Whatever would a _Mando'ad_ be doing on Nar Shaddaa? And then there was the fact that he had tanned skin, dark hair, dark eyes . . . all the typical Fett characteristics. Hmm. Chev and I exchanged a look of confusion mingled with surprise, and eventually, the unknown fellow skidded to a halt right before us, panting a bit.

"Was . . ." he stammered. "Oh, Force . . . Tell me that wasn't the _Slave I_ that I saw!"

"Yeah . . ." Chev replied cautiously. "It was . . . Why are you askin'?"

This kid, who was obviously Mando, didn't look to be much older than fifteen; sixteen at the most. But here he was, in full Mando regalia (sans _buy'ce_) with a rifle slung over his shoulder and asking if he'd just seen he _Slave_ fly off. He took a deep breath, calming himself down; it seemed to me he had a good reason for wanting to know. I couldn't help but wonder if he was of some relation to Lae.

"If you're expecting me to say it's because I'm a huge fan of Boba Fett's and want his autoprint, you're wrong," he said finally.

"Then calm down, kid," I told him. "Tell us what's up."

At that, his eyes flashed angrily as he shot a mean glare skyward to the _Slave_'s last location.

"That son of a schutta's got my sister!" he growled.

Well, talk about your news flash. No wonder he was so interested . . . I took another look at him and noticed that he looked frighteningly like Scorch . . . This was too weird. I shook my head in near disbelief.

"Wh—you mean Lae?" I asked.

"Uh, yes?" He sighed and stuck out his hand. "_Ni _Trent. _La'ika_ . . . _ner ori'vod_."

Needless to say, my eyes went a bit wide as I reached out to return the handshake. This kid spoke Mando'a like a native, and I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, what with the armor and facial features and all, but I was anyway.

"You speak Mando'a," I said, and he rolled his eyes in something of a "Well, _duh_" manner, "and well."

"I should," Trent answered. "Lived around it all my life."

"And why the big rush?"

"Because my sister's just been abducted, hello?" He scoffed a bit, and I personally felt the sudden need to smack his attitude right out from under him. "I heard about the bounty on her and came to find her. I was gonna warn her . . ."

"Well, she had enough warning when Fett walked into the cantina," Chev said. "Then he nailed her, nailed Rogue here, and very nearly nailed me."

Trent exhaled heavily, running his hands through his shaggy black hair. It was evident that he was quite distraught over this whole mess, and I didn't really blame him.

"Oh, _haar'chak_," he grumbled under his breath. "I meant to get to her first . . . Arrg, I owe her so much . . ." Sighing, he glanced over at Chev and me, studying our armor for a minute and then our faces. His eyes showed a faint bit of surprise at seeing Chev, and I wondered if that was because his parents were possibly the ones I had a sneaking suspicion on. "Sorry, I didn't catch the names . . ."

"Well, we never really got a chance for introductions," I replied, shrugging a bit and smiling. "Rogue Fett; my husband Chevron with me. We're, eh . . . hunt saboteurs."

"Fett, eh?" Trent looked thoughtful a moment. "Huh. Now if that isn't . . ." He quickly broke off and shook his head. "Hunt saboteurs, y'say? Then you were out here to help Lae?"

"Well, we were actually out to relax, but Rogue started lookin' around and ran across your sister," Chev explained. "Ol' Boba came waltzing in, and we tried not to get her into his hands . . . but he slipped right out from under us."

_First time it's ever happened, too,_ I thought bitterly. _You don't become a hunt saboteur and stay the most successful one for seventeen years for no reason!_

"Well, at least you tried," Trent said, trying to sound at least a bit hopeful. "Get anything on him?"

"Nothing," I sighed. "We lost him right from the gate." I let out a dejected breath and crossed my arms, shifting my weight a bit. "But we were planning on finding them and getting her back."

"That's the best news I've heard all day!" Trent exclaimed, and I saw just a shadow of a smile cross Chev's face.

"Then we'll go make some plans to get her back," I said. "We'll go to our ship, if that works."

Trent nodded, so Chev and I led the way back to the _Chevron_. Trent actually complimented us on the ship, which surprised me to no end. It was just a refurbished smuggling vessel from decades gone by, nothing special. I mentioned that, and Chev shot me a strange look. I figured the phrase "nothing special" had insulted his manly pride; after all, he'd put a lot of sweat and even a bit of blood into keeping that ship space-worthy. And then there was this one night just after we were married that we'd spent in the cargo hold . . . but that's another story for another time—as in "That's for me to know and you to wonder about." Thankfully, Trent argued with me over that "nothing special" bit, protesting that it was indeed a special ship; apparently this kid was one for spaceships. To make up for inadvertently insulting Chev, I eventually agreed that Trent was right. Once that little situation was taken care of, I herded them into the galley and seated them around the poor excuse for a table while I brewed up a pot of caf. We discussed the situation for a bit before it occurred to me that Trent was accepting help from complete strangers without any qualms whatsoever. That almost startled me, so I leaned across the table from where I sat beside Chev to Trent.

"Don't you have anybody you could contact, get help from?" I asked, and Trent shrugged.

"Except my parents . . . and uncles . . . but they're so busy with the Rebellion lately that they hardly have time anymore."

He sighed dejectedly, and Chev and I exchanged a curious look. Suddenly, my sneaking suspicion was a little less sneaking.

"The Rebellion?" Chev asked, then made a "Hm" sound. "Heh. Interesting . . . and don't worry, Rogue; I got where he's going."

He waved a datapad at me, almost enticingly, and on the screen, I saw a tiny, flashing dot making a long, dashed line. My eyes went wide, and he smirked at me.

"Now _that_ is one thing I'm glad to hear," I sighed, exhaling heavily. Then I took the 'pad and scanned it. "He's heading for the Outer Rim . . . What could he possibly want out there? If anything, I thought he'd take her straight to Coruscant and toss her in . . . that place . . . again."

Trent looked at me as if he wanted to know how I'd known to add "again" to my sentence, but I didn't favor him by telling him Boba himself had mentioned it. Inside, I felt so sorry for Lae. I still recalled, quite clearly, the horrors I'd undergone at "that place." Chev and I had lost and regained each other so many times that in the past seventeen years we'd become totally unwilling to ever go anywhere without each other. He'd developed a sense of clinginess and "I can't live without her," and I pretty much had enough paranoia about the Empire for both of us. They say that when folks marry, "the two become one" and all that stuff, and I pretty darn well believe it. Chev and I had even caught ourselves finishing each others' sentences, too. Spooky.

_Anyway_, rambling thoughts aside, Trent sighed and nodded sadly.

"That's what I thought," he said. "That's probably the main reason I was coming for her."

"But where'd he be going?" Chev questioned, meaning Boba, of course. He gently took the 'pad from my hand and looked it over. "That's what _I'd_ want to know." He sighed, studying the 'pad as if its technology was going right over his head. "If only Sevvie were here! He'd tell this 'pad how to project Boba's probable course and make it tap dance while you waited!"

I laughed in spite of myself and nodded, smiling reminiscently as I took a slow sip of caf. Ahh, Sevvie. He'd been the one who'd hooked my little freighter up with a state-of-the-art cloaking device. I rarely used it for simple cruising, but Chev and I had been known to flip its activation switch when we were hauling a bounty mark away from the hunter who wanted them dead. Talk about fun. Across the table, Trent sighed.

"If only my Uncle Marden were here . . ." he said softly. "He'd probably be able to do the same thing."

At that name, I came to a nearly literal grinding halt and shot a quick glance at Chev. He'd heard it, too; I could tell that by the way his eyes had suddenly latched onto Trent.

"You . . . didn't just say . . . _Marden_, did you?" I asked. Trent arched an eyebrow at me.

"Uh, yeah . . . why?"

I looked quickly at Chev, eyebrows raised in a "Well, whaddaya know?" fashion. We both knew a Marden, but the thing was, he was known to us as Fixer—full name being Marden Fixer Fett. He returned that look before throwing a sideways glance at Trent.

"Name sounds familiar 'cause we both know someone by that name," he said simply.

"Huh, no kidding?" Trent seemed, well, impressed. "Well, that explains why your last name is insanely familiar, too. Fett, wasn't it?"

I sighed and nodded, pretending to be immensely interested in the remaining caf in my cup. I was just waiting for the moment to come when Trent would accuse me of lying to him and really being Boba's accomplice. But I told myself that if it ever came to that, I'd pound him into the ground for being an ignorant kid.

"Indeed," I said quietly. "Daughter of the one and only Jango; sister to the one and only Boba. Great family history I have."

"Jango, really?" Trent seemed _really_ surprised by that, and part of me wanted to ask him "And just how did _you_ think I got my last name?" He pulled out a datapad of his own and scrolled through it for a couple minutes before pausing and studying it. "Hm. You don't . . . _look_ like him."

"Of course not," I laughed. "I'm one of those lucky souls who gets adopted into the Mando way of life. But my past isn't helping us with the present. We've got to find Lae; I . . . have a lot of questions for her."

"Well, I could probably answer most," Trent replied, "except I have a few of my own. First off, how is it possible for us all to know people named Marden?"

"Ooh, sorry," I answered. "Long story, not enough time."

I shot him a sly smirk as he scowled. Chev looked back down at his 'pad, watching the dot that was the _Slave I_ making an even longer dotted line along its path.

"Too long, indeed," he said. "Right, we need to get moving; don't know how far out he's going."

"I just hope we don't end up too late," I said slowly. "That girl just seems . . . special to me."

"And so she should," Trent replied. "She saved me!"

"Sounds like a good story," I prompted, suddenly curious. "Care to—"

"No," Trent snapped, quite morose all of a sudden. "Touchy subject. I don't like thinking about it."

"It's all right, kid," Chev soothed. For the first time in my life, I felt guilty that we didn't have children; Chev would make a great father, I knew. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to. Let's just get your sis and figure out what to do after, all right?"

I let the subject slide after that, and Trent relaxed visibly, nodding slowly. Rising from the table, I patted his arm before heading for the cockpit. Chev was right behind me, and as I sank into the pilot's chair, he passed me his 'pad. He was quite willing to let me get us off the ground; after all, I'd always been our pilot. He was my co-pilot for the most part, though he let me handle the more complicated aspects of technology because he often complained that it went right over his head. So I plugged his 'pad into the console until the data was uploaded and a course was plotted that would take us wherever Boba went so long as I left the ship on auto-pilot. That was fine by me as far as I was concerned; auto-pilot was my favorite feature, anyway. Chev slid into his seat, exhaling heavily. It was late, maybe twelve-thirty, and we had yet to sleep. The poor guy was so exhausted that I felt sorry for him, so I reached over and patted his arm. He smiled at me in that special way he has, but I could see fatigue in his eyes. We hadn't had a good night's sleep in a couple weeks, and I decided that as soon as we got off the ground, we'd go curl up on a bunk and at least try to catch up on our sleep debt.

Shortly after we left Nar Shaddaa, we made the hyperspace jump, and I let auto-pilot take over. I motioned to Chev that we should go get some rest, but as we turned to rise from our seats and leave the cockpit, Trent came in, looking a bit apologetic.

"Hey, I'm sorry for snapping," he said quickly.

"It's okay," I answered. "There are things about _my_ life I wouldn't tell you right off."

One of those things happened to have been the hell I went through when my memory was taken from me; thank the Force I'd been able to get it back, though. I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't. Trent sighed and shrugged, and if he had had pockets, he would've shoved his fists into them.

"It's just . . ." he began. "Well . . . I've been trying really hard not to let her get taken again. Our folks have gotten busy, so they don't always have the time to spend 'guarding' her even though she really can take care of herself . . ."

I nodded understandingly.

"So you think it's your duty to take care of her because she's your sister."

"Well, yeah," Trent replied. "Somethin' like that."

He gave me a small grin that I returned, and Chev stood, walked over to the boy's side, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Trent may have been tall for his age, but Chev was still one hundred and ninety pounds of highly developed muscle, so it's obvious who the bigger guy was.

"We're not gonna let your sister go without one heck of a fight first," he gently told Trent. "Not if either of us is still breathing to do it."

At that, he rubbed the hole in his chestplate a bit more consciously than I would've liked. His eyes took on a faraway gleam for a moment, and I shuddered. If there was one thing that hadn't changed in seventeen years, it was that I still hated any mention of his death with a raging vengeance. So, naturally, I drew a sharp breath despite nodding faintly, and I reached up and touched Chev's arm. Instantly, the faraway look vanished, and he looked down at me.

"I wish you wouldn't do that . . ." I told him, then trailed off.

I didn't have to say anything more than that because he understood perfectly. He gave me a short nod before his hand dropped back down to his side; he didn't like thinking about it any more than I did. Despite my attempts to get him to put that behind him and to let it just be forgotten, he absolutely would not. There had actually been a couple times I'd found him standing just a little way away from the house, gazing at the twin headstones there—his own, namely. Many times I'd suggested we tear it down and leave only _Jang'buir_'s, but he never would agree to it. I think he just wanted us all to know and never forget. That was the reason why we both went stone silent after he'd touched the hole on his chestplate. Beside us, Trent raised a brow with curiosity.

"Do what?" he asked, looking steadily at me. "What'd he do?"

_Weren't you listening, adiik?_ I wanted to ask but didn't. Instead, I shook my head.

"It's nothing," I said, waving him off despite his protests. "Long story that's too complicated for the situation. Maybe later we can sit down over a nice dinner and discuss everything anybody ever wanted to discuss."

"Oh." Trent nodded. "Somethin' of a pet peeve, huh?"

Though that was it exactly, I shot him a "Shut it right now, kid" glare. He looked immediately repentant, though still curious.

"N—no," I finally answered, "more like a really rotten memory I hate thinking about."

"For me, especially," Chev added, quieter than I'd heard him recently. ". . . It's nothin'. Let's just get go. I'm itching for a rematch with that _aruetii_, anyway!"

I smiled and nodded; that sounded good to me! Turning back around, I glanced at the console, watching the _Slave I_ track across the screen. Apparently Boba didn't know he was being followed; we must've started late enough that he thought he'd given us the slip and made off with his target. Well, not today, you rodent. Not today.

"Seems like the _Slave_'s headed for an—" I paused, staring at the screen and almost scratching my head. "—uncharted system . . . ? That can't be right . . ."

"Looks like it is," Trent mused, leaning over me and evoking a "No duh" thought from me.

"Yeah, guess so," I shrugged. "We'll be at that targeted planet in a couple of hours. Might as well . . . get a little rest?"

I directed that last question at Chev, and he nodded. He looked even more tired now, and my heart wrenched. He'd been going so long that he was bound to have a burnout before long. I set the ship on auto-pilot and then locked the console before showing Trent where he could lie down if he wanted to. After that was finished, I went off to the bunks and found Chev stretched out, eyes closed. It was a bit of a tight fit, but I scrunched myself into the bunk beside him, being as careful as I could not to wake him. Nevertheless, he cracked an eye open at me and allowed me to nestle into him. So I snuggled in, draping my arm across him before sighing.

"Y'know, I think I'm a little scared about all this," I said, not really expecting an answer.

It was silent a few moments before I felt Chev's chest heave with a sigh, and he turned his head slightly to look at me.

"Not just that, but . . ." He trailed off, quietly tracing a finger around the hole in his chestplate. After a long moment, he spoke again. "I half-feel like it's that split second before I got run through . . . I can just . . . _feel_ that blade, right over me . . . It's a bad sign, _Ro'ika_. A very bad sign." He sighed, evidently very anxious about this all, and I wrapped both arms around him. My poor, poor _cyar'ika_. "If only Stick or Sevvie were here to make me feel better . . ."

I nestled into his shoulder, trying to make myself relax, but that was hard to do. He and I were both so wired with nervous worry that it was hard to get to sleep.

"I know, baby," I sighed. "I don't think I've ever felt this . . . jittery. It's like I'm just _waiting_ for something to happen . . . something bad. I don't like where this is going. And I certainly don't like having to fight my . . . _my brother_ for that girl's life."

I struggled over getting the word "brother" out of my mouth because of all the awful things he'd done to me and mine. He no longer seemed like a brother to me, and part of me wondered if it were possible to disown one's brother much like one would disown a parent using _dar'buir_. Chev heard the way I faltered and squeezed my shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed. "Don't worry. I bet we'll make it out just fine. You'll see."

"We'd better," I sighed. "It's just that, if he keeps this up, someday he'll end up having a very painful, messy death by someone or some_thing_, even. As much I want to get back at him for hurting me, I wouldn't want that to happen, even to him."

Chev just said "Mm," and when I looked over at him, I saw that his eyes were closed again. His breathing was slow and even, and I got drowsy just watching him. So I said no more. I snuggled against him for warmth and closeness, counted my blessings, and then allowed myself to finally doze off. It wasn't the most peaceful sleep in the galaxy, what with the incessant rumble of the hyperdrive and the amounting problems that kept forcing their way into my head, but Chev was still beside me, sleeping quietly, and I figured I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatched—the chickens being potential problems. Yet it was still hard to sleep because I knew that my trusty little freighter was rocketing us closer and closer to wherever _ner aruetyc vod_ had taken Lae.


	5. Sith Happens

AUTHOR'S NOTE

**JediMan**, I totally appreciate your comments! Now, to answer your questions since you left them as annonymous and therefore this is the only way I can reply.

One: Nope, I didn't make Rogue and Chev's wedding vows up on my own. They were actually listed in an article written by Karen Traviss herself in a copy of _Star Wars Insider_ magazine. I copied them straight from there. :)

Two: Hey, you know, you're right! Trent oughtta speak in full Mando'a sentences. I'll go change that since it's a good idea. (Now to be written as "_Ni _Trent. _La'ika_ . . . _ner ori'vod_.") Hope this helps! Oh, yeah, hope you keep reading, too.

-T92

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**Chapter Four – Sith Happens**

I was awake long before we came out of hyperspace, so I sat up in the cockpit just watching the swirls of hyperspace travel go rocketing past. I didn't know where we were headed or where we'd end up. We were following Boba, so wherever he stopped would be where we stopped, too. I didn't like not knowing where we were going; that part made me so nervous that I could hardly sit still. My right leg was bouncing uncontrollably as I sat slouched in the pilot's seat, staring out the cockpit window. For the first time in a long while, I felt so terribly alone, as if the galaxy had suddenly been abandoned in one mass migration and I was the only one who'd missed it. But it was so quiet, with only the rumble of the hyperdrive, the low whir of the engines, and the occasional quiet beeping of the console, that I couldn't help but sink into a long moment of thought. I mulled over in my mind everything from that day, how we'd met Lae, how she'd struck me as familiar . . . The two things that stuck in my mind were her attitude and her eyes. They gleamed like two burning embers, I recalled. They flashed with a soul-deep laugh, it seemed. And after seeing Trent, I wondered so badly if that'd been what Larra had been up to for the past seventeen years: parenthood. If that were the case, she and I would have to have a long session of catching up the next time we saw each other. But the way things were going, I had no way of knowing when that'd be.

After a long time, I heard quiet footsteps behind me but didn't turn. I didn't need to; I recognized the footfall pattern. A few seconds later, Chev came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, nestling his face into my hair. He whispered "Good morning," and I glanced over at the chrono we'd hooked up to the console to track what time it would be if we were planet-side. Turns out he was right; were we docked, it would be about eight in the morning. I turned around to kiss him, but then the ship lurched a bit and skidded to what felt like a halt. We'd just come out of hyperspace in what was literally the middle of nowhere. The nearest planet was charted at a few parsecs away . . . and there was absolutely no sign of the _Slave I_. Chev pointed down at the console to where the tracking device's data kept popping up, and I realized that we'd lost the _Slave_ hours before. Apparently, he'd figured out he was being tracked and had somehow managed to ditch the tracker. So now he had made off with Lae, and I was irritated beyond belief. That _aruetii_ had gotten away _again_! I swore under my breath, but it was so colorful that Chev looked at me in a way that made me apologize for my language. Soon after, Trent came skidding into the cockpit, and he barreled his way right up to the console, where he leaned forward and peered out the window. His eyes were darting madly, as if looking for something. I arched a brow at him.

"Hey, you okay, kid?" I asked.

"Um, not really," he replied. "Just got this really bad feeling, like something nasty's about to happen."

He shuddered, and suddenly, this feeling of cold swept over me. Chev went stiff behind me and pulled away, and I knew he'd felt it, too. I looked up at him, and he gazed down at me, his eyes showing a myriad of differing emotions, most falling in the categories of fear and horror.

"Feels just like _Lusankya_," he whispered. "Just before she . . ."

He trailed off and said no more, but he shivered. I knew what he meant, anyway. He meant that it was that feeling of dark dread just before his memory had almost been wiped and mine totally had been, the cold reaching in with its long, icy fingers, wrapping around us and just squeezing. I shook a bit with fright, and then I noticed that Trent's eyes were still glued to the window. Following his gaze, I saw a long, black, arrow-like object gliding through the space outside us. It hit me then when was going on as I recognized that vessel. The _Chevron_'s sensors started beeping madly to warn me that was an enemy ship, but those sensors hadn't had to tell me. I already knew.

For that was the _Executor_, Darth Vader's flagship. This was a trap; there was nothing else it could have been.

I was suddenly paralyzed with fear as realization hit me like an uppercut. No doubt Boba had been commed and told to lead us in. After all, what better prize for Vader himself than the two most successful bounty saboteurs in the entire galaxy? Besides, he'd probably talked to a certain Director of Intelligence and learned that she no doubt had a score she'd like to settle with said saboteurs. She _had_ to be irritated beyond all measure that Chev and I had gotten away; I shuddered just to think of what would happen if she and Vader had teamed to track us down. And now Boba just _had_ to be in on it to betray me again, to turn me over to them. I was willing to bet a month's fees that he'd known he was being tracked but had allowed it until we were close to reaching the _Executor_'s location; he'd probably dropped Lae off whenever he'd gotten there, and now he was off on his merry way while Lae was probably being tortured to death. All these thoughts swarmed so violently through my mind that I barely heard Chev calling to me. When I finally did and turned to him, he motioned down at the frantically beeping sensor grids.

"Do we turn around?" he asked me hurriedly.

"Yes," I answered, not waiting a moment. "We haul our _shebse_ right out of here, right now."

"But what about my sister?!" Trent cried.

Hmm. That _was_ a situation. I doubted we'd do her any good if we went and got ourselves captured, and I frankly didn't feel like dropping in to say hello to Vader. I might consider sending him a postcard that read "Go to hell," but I wasn't about to pop in for a quick spot of caf and a nice chat over old times. Note: If you _ever_ see me doing that, do _not_ hesitate to hit me hard enough to make my head spin. I looked at Trent and gave him an answer that contradicted all the bad feelings I was having.

"She's not gonna be on that ship!" I replied, wrenching the controls around to get us headed back the opposite direction. By now, the _Executor_ was waaaaay too close for comfort. "Let's _move_!"

"But the _EMPIRE_ wants her!" Trent screamed at me, growing desperate. "_Vader himself wants her dead!_"

That jarred me somethin' fierce, but I couldn't help myself. My heart was pounding, a cold sweat was breaking out on my forehead, and adrenaline was surging to every muscle just because I'd thought about what could happen to me and Chev if we got caught. Call me selfish, but we'd been through so much pain because of that _shabla_ Empire that we wanted absolutely nothing to do with it _ever_ again. I punched the throttle to full speed but found that the _Chevron_ was behaving rather sluggishly. Still, we were pointed in the right direction, so if we could just get moving . . .

"Chev!" I cried. "I'm gonna need some more power on the forward thrusters! Having trouble moving . . ."

He nodded at me and started flipping switches, turning the forward thrusters up as far as they would go. Nothing. We'd stopped moving forward and began moving _backwards_. He looked over at me, eyes wide.

"_Fierfek_, I think they're tractoring us in!" he exclaimed, fear thick in his voice. "If they get us on that ship . . ."

He shivered just a bit at that thought. Trent made some "See, I _told_ you so!" remark, and I shot him a nasty glare that was just a step below smacking him across the mouth.

"Oh, you just shut up!" I snapped. "Can't you see this is a very tense, very messy, and very _dangerous_ situation?! We've both been in Imperial hands before, and both of us came out with less than perfect memory, so if you _don't mind_, Your Highness, we would very much like to get the heck out of here!"

His eyes went wide with sudden realization as I turned back to the controls, a scowl on my face. The ship was at full power; if I tried anything else, we'd get blown to smithereens just from the circuitry overload. Trent lifted a finger and pointed it at my, eyes still wide.

"You mean—"

I turned and looked at him, not quite as angrily, but still just as annoyedly.

"Yes. _Lusankya_. Exactly. I am NOT going anywhere NEAR that ship because I do NOT want to have my mind erased AGAIN!"

Before I knew what I was doing, I had babbled out the entire awful truth that yes, I was practically a walking amnesiac. Sure, I remembered most everything, but the treatment had left its . . . scars. There were times when I struggled to remember something that had been stored in my short-term memory. Long-term wasn't as hard to deal with, but even with that there were still some fuzzy spots way in the back. Realizing what I'd done, I growled and looked forward, eyes narrowed. It was silent for a few moments before Trent dared to speak.

"I don't think we have a choice," he said.

"We _always_ have a choice," Chev informed him. "And mine? Not get caught. If we do, that's one _bad_ sign."

"Then when we dock, we make a break for it," I said decisively. Yep, Little Miss Decision Maker; that's me!

"And get shot into a million pieces by the Stormtroopers?" Trent scoffed, and I shot him a look that basically said "Are you Mando or aren't you?"

"Kid, I've broken those 'Stormies' in two over my _knee_," I said. "I used to train with the guys who got brainwashed and became these 'Stormies,' but even that was many years ago. Those boys are probably dead . . . which means these losers couldn't hit the broadside of a sandcrawler if it was aimed right at them!"

"Rogue, you never saw just how accurate we all were," Chev said slowly, and I knew right away he hadn't heard a word of what I'd just said. Even the white jobs could get in a head shot once or twice. Running ain't gonna work either."

"Were you not listening to me?" I sighed quietly, beginning to feel _very_ uptight. "All those white jobs are probably dead. The aging got 'em, probably. These are most likely new recruits who're too trigger-happy to aim carefully."

The ship lurched a bit before feeling as if it'd come to a dead stop. Trent looked at me, and I saw that he had paled considerably.

"Maybe you'd like to find out," he said. He closed his eyes a moment. "We've docked; they're coming for us."

"Great," I muttered. "Just _sensational_. I always _wanted_ to see Vader again."

"Again?!" Surprise was so evident on Trent's face that I could tell he hadn't even _tried_ to hide it.

"Yes, _again_," I retorted. "Don't ask; just shut up."

Trent looked a little miffed at that, but by that point, I didn't really care. I was scared, nervous, and downright fidgety. Chev looked at Trent and shook his head.

"Seriously, you _don't_ want to know," he sighed. "Now, my vote? We hide and sneak out. I can still pass off as a Stormie. Besides . . . well, never mind, don't need to know that now . . ."

"What?" Trent asked. "Know what?"

Chev didn't respond; he just looked at me. His dark eyes were even darker and clouded with worry. He didn't like this any more than I did; that much was evident. Beside us, Trent's eyes started anxiously darting around, and he began to fidget. I sighed, breaking my gaze with Chev's.

"You're skittish," I said simply. Trent looked incredulous.

"And you're not?"

My fist coiled back to hit him. _Mando'ad_ or no, he was really getting on my already raw nerves. I didn't think I'd be able to take much more of him and his mouthy nature. Trent saw my fist and smirked cockily at me, almost daring me to hit him. Chev saw my fist, too, and he put his hand gently over it, making me flatten my curled hand into a normal position. I guess he didn't want me killing the kid too soon.

"Or maybe we're _all_ a little jumpy here," he said quietly, "considering that both Rogue and I suffered at the hands of the Empire."

"Wh—" Trent didn't even get the question out.

"Yeah," I said icily. "_Suffered._ Like lost my memory and nearly caused my brain to explode inside my skull. Literally. _And_ we've both been at death's door on several occasions . . . some of us closer than others."

I shuddered as I thought back over my life to the one horrible occasion known as Geo. I clenched my hand just thinking about it, and Chev squeezed my balled fist, sighing thinly. I noticed then that he seemed a bit more anxious than he had, and just then, the ship lurched slightly. He and I looked at each other, and I slowly rose from my seat. There was only one thing that could mean: the Imps had cracked the lock on the loading ramp and were soon to come aboard.

"Well, what's the plan?" Trent asked. "Do we stay here and get captured now, or do we go hide and get captured later?"

"I'm for getting captured _never_," I replied, every muscle tense and buzzing with adrenaline.

"Best way to do that is hide _now_, all right?" Chev said, sounding a little less like my quiet, gentle-when-he-needs-to-be husband and more like the commander he was trained to be. "Rogue, I don't know this bucket as well as you do, so if you know any secret compartments, that knowledge would be very helpful right now . . ."

I took the hint, thought a moment, then dashed off to the cargo hold. Chev and Trent were right behind me, almost on my heel, as I skidded into the hold and looked around for a second. There, in one dark corner, was a trio of huge durasteel crates that had never been moved. I knew what was directly beneath them, so I waved Chev over and he helped me shove them aside. Crouching down, I hefted up a floor panel to reveal a nice dark hiding place.

"All right, inside," I ordered. "It's a little cramped and very dark, but it'll do."

As if to make my point, I leaped in first. There was just enough room to sit up, so that was all we needed. These, after all, were secret compartments used by smugglers. Since the _Chevron_ was a rather . . . _antique_ smuggling freighter, it had these handy little compartments. I'd found them a couple days after I'd purchased it and thought I'd never need them. Well, now I was glad I hadn't decided to stuff them with insulation or something. Chev scrambled in after me before turning back and thrusting his hand out for Trent, who looked almost hesitant. I rolled my eyes, thinking to myself how inopportune a time this was for claustrophobia.

"C'mon, kid!" Chev called. "Get in or you're dead!"

That did it. Trent jumped in, and as soon as he was safely tucked away, I reached up and pulled the panel back into place, sealing us in total darkness and silence. We sat there, hardly daring to breathe, for about five minutes before there was the sound of boots clattering on the floor above. I shivered, unwillingly thinking about all the horrible things sounds like that had heralded in my past. Even in the dark, I could tell Trent was looking at me.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah . . ." I answered in a very faint whisper. "It's just that those sounds and being in here makes me think of . . . of prison."

"Makes me think of . . . a battle," Chev added quietly.

"It sounds like . . . like Korriban, almost," Trent said, his voice hushed. "Except there's no wind, no blowing sand . . ."

"Shh," I murmured, reaching over and patting his leg. "Stay still."

Nodding upward, I reached for their armored hands and squeezed them. Chev returned the squeeze, but Trent just went silent and totally still. For a minute, I wasn't even sure he was breathing. We sat there as quietly as possible for as long as possible before the clacking boots grew louder, louder . . . and then stopped—directly above our heads, that is. A shiver ran all throughout my body as certain familiar raspy breathing seeped down through the floor panels to us. I couldn't help it; I was running almost totally on adrenaline, my heart was pounding like a drum, and then Vader himself was up there? Not a good combination, let me assure you. Then there were voices: Stormtrooper voices.

"There's no one on board, sir," one of the troopers said.

"Yes, sir," another added. I could just see the rigid salute they gave Vader and the displeasure I _knew_ was on his face beneath that mask. "Nobody here. This place is abandoned."

Vader was silent a few minutes, and my experience with being in his presence told me that his hands were more than likely resting on his belt, and he was probably using his Force powers to sense through the ship, looking for us.

"Why do I sense you're both _wrong_?" he said finally, voice rumbling.

I couldn't see what happened next, but I was glad I couldn't. He made a "Hmm" sound, and then there were choking, sputtering, gasping noises. I went stock still; once I'd had the "privilege" of seeing Vader . . . _dispose_ of a trooper via a telekinetic choke. It was not one of my more treasured memories. Seeing that poor trooper flailing desperately, clawing in vain at the invisible iron hand around his throat then finally going still with a horrible, gasping death rattle . . . I shuddered, and beside me, Chev froze in pure terror. There weren't many things that could drop him like that, and it was a rare occasion when one did, but this nailed him right between the eyes, so to speak. He may have been one of the original ARCs, and he may have offered to use that to get us all free, but I knew that he still remembered when _he_ had been a "Stormie" . . . just before we'd met again in that cold, dark _Lusankya_ prison cell. No doubt they'd worked him until he was exhausted, kicked him around, treated him like dirt . . . I squeezed his hand, leaning my head against his shoulder. Trent slid closer to my side.

"That . . . isn't who I think it is . . . is it?" he asked, voice so low I could barely hear it.

"You mean Vader?" I replied, equally low. "Yes."

I squirmed my hand more firmly into Chev's and gave it another hard squeeze. I knew he could tell I was shaking, for he returned the squeeze with one equally hard. I was about to go mad with anxiety and fear if we had to sit any longer in the darkness with Vader up above, looking for us.

"I wish we hadn't come," I whispered, my voice trembling as much as I was.

Beside me, I felt Trent stiffen, and he scooted over farther from me. I knew I'd just insulted him; after all, we'd been coming to rescue his sister. No doubt he was twirked, but at that point, I didn't really care. I just wanted to get out of there and immediately. Chev gave my hand another reassuring squeeze.

"We had to," he softly told me. "Don't ever feel sorry because of that."

I knew he was right, but I didn't say so. I just swallowed hard and nodded faintly. He leaned over and lightly kissed my forehead as if that would calm me. Well, it didn't, but it's the thought that counts, after all. Above us, the footsteps multiplied, which told me that more Stormtroopers had been brought in to hunt us down. We were down there, buried up as best we could be, and Vader was up there, barking orders and pretty much standing right on Trent's head.

"Search this cargo hold," he barked. "They _have_ to be here. Any smuggler's vessel such as this will have little hiding places."

The footsteps got a bit quieter as the troopers dispersed, and Trent wheeled around, staring _hard_ at me.

"_Smuggling vessel?!_" he hissed. I waved at him to be silent.

"Got it on sale," I quipped. "Now _shh_!"

We huddled there in darkness for as long as we could, which ended up being only about five minutes. I guess we'd talked too much, for there was the sound of scraping metal before little streaks of light appeared through the cracks in the floor as the panel was dragged away. I pulled us all back into the darkness, but a lot of good that did. Way too quickly, light flooded in, forcing us all to squeeze our eyes shut to keep from being blinded. And then there was that awful breathing, looming right overhead us. I dared to look up and found Vader peering in, and the minute I saw his mask, my blood ran cold. He seemed so . . . triumphant, so arrogant, that I was tempted to spit at him.

"How quaint," he sneered. "Trying to hide in your little burrows like rodents."

I pulled my lips back in a snarl, and beside me, Chev balled his fists so hard that the knuckles cracked so loudly that I knew it had to be painful. Vader just chuckled darkly as several troopers materialized behind him.

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked mockingly. "A little angry that your hiding games didn't work? And _welcome back_, Rogue."

"Don't you speak to me, Vader," I hissed. "I don't work for you anymore, you _etyc hut'uun_!"

Trent's eyes went wide at the fact that yes, I had indeed worked for the one and only Darth Vader in my life. Get over it, kid. Life happens, and sometimes it sucks. Sometimes things happen that we don't want, and some of us have those rotten occurrences more often than not. _Anyway_, while Trent's eyes were wide, Vader just chuckled as if I'd told a joke.

"Your petty insults accomplish nothing, Rogue," he said. "But you _are_ right; it must've slipped my mind. Very well." He motioned to the troopers behind him. "Drag them out."

The troopers swarmed in, white-armored hands reaching for us. I guess they thought we'd be easily captured. Looks like they were wrong. The three of us fought as hard as we could, struggling and thrashing about like beached fish. Several times they lost their grips on us, and had we not been stuck down in that compartment, we would've run for our lives, no question. But, guess what. We didn't have that option! Wow! Talk about an interesting development—NOT! But it wasn't long before the troopers teamed together; two of them hauled Trent out, though he was kicking and scratching, and _three_ had to work together to haul Chev out. Vader got bored with the commotion, looked down at me, and waved back the troopers that were coming after me. I tried to stay right where I was, but he reached in with his huge, black-clothed arm and clenched his hand around my throat, dragging me out that way. I gasped at the sudden constriction and glanced to the side; Chev's eyes were wide with horror, but he couldn't get free of the three Stormtroopers holding him back. I glared at Vader, trying to make my eyes as cold as possible.

"You're here for the little Jedi girl, aren't you?" he asked.

"Damn . . . straight . . . Now let . . . me . . . _go!_"

"Not this week."

"Nice . . . Maybe next week? I have a free spot on my calendar then—Ack!"

His grip tightened on my throat, and I coughed violently, clawing at his gloved hand. Suddenly, I was filled with panic and horror. This was just like I'd seen that time he'd choked a trooper to death. I expected him to just let me go after a moment since he was probably making a point, but he didn't. Instead, his grip tightened even more. I struggled to even breath, and the edges of my vision were going black. Then I heard an enraged roar of "LET HER GO!" Then Chev came leaping out of nowhere, having wrested himself free of the troopers' hold. His eyes were flashing with an angry gleam; I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen that gleam. He brought his armored fist crashing down on Vader's helmet, but even with that, he staggered back, nursing his knuckles and swearing under his breath. I started going limp as Vader squeezed, and realization sunk in that he was actually trying to kill me. Vader looked at Chev for a moment, almost amused, and he just shrugged the blow off as if it'd never happened. I figured that he probably hadn't even felt it.

"This is entertaining," he mused. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

"Because we couldn't have . . . gotten here . . . sooner," I choked out. "Got a little . . . tied up."

"Ah, yes. Your brother told us of the tracking device."

Behind me, I heard Trent inhale sharply. _I_ would've given anything to have been able to inhale. I thrashed, trying to fight my way free from Vader's grip before I died; it was all I could do to grab at his gloved hands that didn't even feel human. I don't think it was much longer after that thrashing of mine that he got bored with my struggling and released me. My breath came back in a cold whoosh, and I crumpled to my knees on the cargo hold floor. I held my throat with one hand, gasping in as much air as my lungs would take. But I suppose I was too stunned to move, for I just sat there, breathing hard. Chev again broke free of the Stormtroopers guarding him and crouched down at my side, one hand on my back and the other on my elbow. He shot Vader a cold glare as he helped me struggle to my feet, muttering "_Shabla darjetii_" under his breath. As soon as I was fully stable on my feet and breathing properly, I leveled Vader with my best death ray glare and lifted my right hand, tossing him the universal "frack you" gesture. He just chuckled.

"That wasn't nice," he chided.

"Wasn't meant to be," I hissed.

Well, we couldn't exactly make an escape considering how there a dozen Stormtroopers around us and more scattered throughout the ship. Trent took a hesitant, cautious step toward Vader.

"What have you done with my sister?" he asked, voice low.

"Oh, yes," Vader replied, feigning thoughtfulness. "The Jedi girl. She's being held."

"By what?" I questioned, sarcasm thick. "Restraining cuffs? Electronic collars that'll fry her nervous system if she moves? Do tell us, 'Lord Vader.' My navel is puckering and unpuckering with the excitement."

"Very close," he sneered. "I like the way you think."

"Shut up!" I barked, thoroughly fed up with him and all his Sith nastiness. "_Just shut up!_ If you're going to throw us in prison, make it fast."

"I was always told that haste makes waste."

I flipped him the finger again. This time, he didn't even seem to care. Trent tilted his head and arched a brow.

"He's being patronizing," he informed me, much to my thought of "No freakin' duh."

"And he's good at it," I replied, still glaring as hard as I could at Vader despite my sore, almost crushed throat.

We didn't even get to make a run for it, because those troopers swarmed all over us, clamping binders around our wrists to make sure we couldn't break free and defend ourselves. I exchanged a look with Chev; he was already thinking up a plan, I could tell. I could almost see the little cogwheels turning in his mind, plotting up a way out. I knew that if we were in here and could get out, we could free Lae and get her out, too. This could work to our advantage if we knew what we were doing. We were hauled from the _Chevron_'s cargo bay and out into the _Executor_. Vader looked at us once, and I could've sworn I saw a sneer of cold disdain come over his face.

"Welcome aboard _Executor_," he said icily.

Trent and I shuddered at that and looked at each other. For the first time, I wished I'd had some sort of Jedi powers so I could send him a telepathic thought of "We'll beat this thing yet." Chev turned slowly, eyes narrow. He was practically shaking with rage, but somehow, he was keeping it decently together. He took one long stride to Vader and spat, leaving a nice splotch on that creep's otherwise perfectly shiny mask.

"Don't give a frack where we are," he snarled, and Vader just looked at him, maybe even contemplating strangling him, too.

"That's too bad," he said, "because you're going to be here a very long time . . . until we take over the universe."

"Don't count on it, you _hut'uun_!" I cried, throwing one last long, hateful glare at him as the Stormtroopers hauled us away. "Somebody'll stop you! And so help me, I'll be there to see it!"

I got to say no more, because the troopers took us off down a few long corridors until we reached the cell block. My shoulders were squared back and my head was high, but I still had jelly insides. Just being in that place was like being onboard _Lusankya_ again, and that sent horrified shivers all through me. Well, I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't getting hurled unceremoniously into a dimly-lit, cramped, cold prison cell like a common criminal. But then again, I suppose that was what the Empire considered us all to be. I knew I had a list a mile long of various acts of "treason" hanging out on my permanent record. So I guess maybe I was a wanted felon according to the Emperor and Vader. As soon as we were thrown into the cell, the door was sealed and locked behind us, and I went careening into a wall from the force of the throw. That left a nice huge bruise on my shoulder, so I winced before turning and sliding down said wall, sighing to myself.

"Well, this is fun," I muttered. Trent eyed me cautiously.

"Sarcasm?"

I shot him a warning look.

"Shut it."

"Well, this certainly puts a crimp in everything," Chev sighed, leaning back against the cell wall and crossing his arms. "And I mean _everything_."

"Oh, yeah," Trent scoffed. "Tell me something _not_ new."

I turned on him, just about ready to rip his throat out for all his stupid teenage cockiness. I had had quite enough of him and his reckless use of annoying sarcasm.

"Didn't I tell you to shut it?!" I barked.

Trent lifted his hands in mock surrender, making me roll my eyes with irritation. I swear, I began praying his parents weren't who I figured they were. If they were, I . . . Well, I'd have to smack a little sense into them for letting their boy turn out as he had.

"Okay, okay," I sighed. "Arguing and being idiotic aren't going to help us. We need a _plan_."

"Plans are good," Trent nodded, though I figured he was still being idiotic.

"Exactly," I answered. "I've been thinking . . . If we could convince them one of us wanted to defect, we could get into the system and hack through from the inside."

There were several minutes of silence as Trent and Chev mulled over my idea. It wasn't the greatest, but it could give us a chance. But before Trent even spoke up again, I'd already decided the idea was no good and that we shouldn't risk it.

"Lovely," Trent muttered. "But who's gonna be the lucky traitor?"

Another long silence. Chev looked at me, and I shook my head. He sighed anyway; apparently he didn't take the hint that I was shooting down my own idea.

"Well . . . I can always pass off as a Stormie . . ." he mused. "Trust me, though, with _my_ luck, we'll have someone we know come waltzing right on in . . ."

"But your luck isn't as bad as mine," I reminded him, scooting across the floor to his side. "Remember, I've been shot and betrayed by my own _brother_."

"You're right," Trent put in. "That _is_ bad luck. But we'd better hurry; we might not have a lot of time to get a plan into action before they come and . . . _interrogate_ us."

I shuddered at that word, rolling my shoulders back. Boy, that conjured up a lot of agonizing memories. Just from that one use of that word, I suddenly heard, in the back of my head, myself screaming for Chev to hold on, to fight . . . then I was screaming with my own pain . . . I shook rather violently before looking at Trent.

"Don't use that word," I said, tone quiet.

"More bad memories?" he asked.

"To put it simply."

Chev put his arm around me and looked at Trent.

"That's putting it _very_ simply," he said softly.

He slowly stretched out, seeming to be in a bit of pain from being squeezed up inside my ship's smuggling compartment, but then he looked down at his boots and noticed their heels were digging into something that was curled up in a tight little ball there in the center of the cell. He drew his legs back a bit and looked at me, then at the ball again. It was so dimly-lit in that cell that I could barely see, but I saw a small dark heap, nonetheless.

"I think we've got a fellow captive in here," Chev whispered.

I straightened and looked over, studying the poor ball. From where I sat, it looked almost like . . . armor? No way . . . Oh, could we have been that fortunate to have been jailed in the same cell as Lae?! It would be nice . . .

"Oh, Force," I breathed. "Is that . . ."

"That's not Lae, is it?" Trent asked, rising up on his knees. "Force, she looks horrible!"

He scampered over, and now I saw what he meant. Were this indeed Lae, she had the signs of having been recently beaten. There were bruises all over her arms and even a bit of blood. Trent lightly touched her back, but she just curled into an even tighter ball, twitching frightfully and even shivering.

"Oh, my gods," I gasped. "What did they do?!"

I didn't even need a real answer to that. I knew what they'd done; no doubt they'd interrogated her, then whenever she didn't answer, they'd probably hurt her. I brought a hand to my mouth, suddenly feeling nauseous, which I found unusual. I almost never got sick just from looking at something. I chewed at my index fingernail as my eyes darted around; I felt very much like a caged animal.

"I hate this place, I hate this place, I _HATE_ this place!" I cried, and Chev put both arms around me as I began to tremble. "I want it to get blown up, and I want to see it happen!"

I don't guess I need to explain why I hated where we were. After all, it was an Imperial Super-Star Destroyer (SSD for short) _and_ _Lusankya_'s sister ship. I was terrified, and now I felt sick . . . This was not going well. Chev sighed and tucked me into his arms, resting his chin atop my head. He was afraid, too; I could feel it. We were both terrified over what could happen to us, and we still didn't have a plan for escaping. Meanwhile, Trent reached out and touched the little ball again, though much more gently.

"L—Lae?" he said softly. "That's not you, is it?"

Sure enough, it was. The ball uncoiled, and a pair of eyes blinked open, almost illuminating the cell with gleaming amber. Even from where I sat, I could tell it was Lae. No one else that I knew had such unique, glittering eyes that shone like a pair of spot lamps. She looked at Trent, blinking a moment. Trent sat there, biting his lower lip.

"T—_Tren'ika_?" she questioned softly before letting out a faint, almost sobbing cry of relief. "Trent . . . you came, you _came_ . . . Oh, Force . . ."

Not waiting another second, she flung herself at her brother, nearly taking him down. It seemed that she was just extremely glad there was a familiar face nearby, and Trent sighed, cradling her and hugging her tightly.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed. "I've gotcha. Brought some friends to help get you out, too."

At that, he nodded to Chev and me, and Lae looked up at us, studying us for a good long minute. I nodded a hello.

"Hey again," I said simply.

"Hey there . . ." Lae answered, though a bit slowly. It seemed she was still recovering from whatever the Imps had done to her. "Rogue, wasn't it? And Chev?"

"Short for Chevron," Chev nodded.

At the mention of that, Lae blinked a couple times in rapid succession before glancing over at Trent. He sighed, looking a bit guilty, and scratched the back of his neck.

"Yeah, we kinda . . . got locked up, too," he admitted sheepishly. "But we're going to get out of here as fast as possible. Rogue's already working on a plan."

_I _was I thought, sighing a bit.

"Or trying to," I said instead. "It's hard to convince people to be traitors, even fake traitors."

I nestled up closer to Chev and mouthed "And you'd better _not_ play traitor" before I felt another wave of faint nausea. Were those creeps pumping some sort of toxic gas into the cell to asphyxiate us? I glanced warily around the cell, checking for any sort of greenish cloud billowing from . . . well, anywhere. Any vent, any crack in the wall . . . Across the way, Lae shot a curious glance at Trent.

"No, not that," she said, waving his excuse off. "Trent . . . doesn't the name Chevron sound . . . familiar?"

Trent tilted his head, obvious in thought. For a moment, he chewed at his bottom lip, and he stole a look at Chev before turning to Lae, eyes almost wide. I wondered to myself where this was going but didn't dare to ask.

"That wouldn't be the one," he began. "Like . . . Mom was always talking . . . But those are just stories . . . right?"

"Doesn't mean they've got a line of fact," Lae replied with a shrug.

Chev and I exchanged a look before he slid forward a bit, gazing steadily at Trent and Lae, curiosity all over his face. Me, I was just realizing that, hey, guess what! My little hunch might just be correct after all!

"Your mom?" he asked. "Stories? What's goin' on, kids?"

"While we were growing up," Trent explained, "our mom used to tell us stories about a guy sharing your name. Like she grew up with him or something? I forget. It's been so long . . ."

I hadn't meant to, but I drew in a sharp breath at that as reality smacked me in the face. There was only one "she" I knew of that could possibly have told those tales, and that, my friends, was Larra. Well, that certainly explained Trent's classic Fett features, for one thing, and Lae's laughing eyes, for another. _Those_ were Scorch's eyes; I'd know them anywhere. Lae nodded in agreement with her brother.

"Yeah," she said, "but she always mentioned that he got killed, didn't she . . . ?"

"Not a fond memory," Chev replied, "but yeah."

Lae absolutely _stared_ at him with shock. Well, that was one thing I could tell she hadn't been expecting. Trent matched Lae's stare, and it went totally silent in the cell for about five minutes. It was all I could do to keep from laughing at the expressions on those kids' faces. Trent shook his head, surprise quite evident on his face.

"Whoa . . ." he breathed. "Don't tell me _he's_ the same guy . . . But he's supposed to be _dead_, right?"

"He _was_," I informed him, squeezing Chev's hand. "Nasty memory. Please don't ask for too many details."

Trent _stared_, first at me, then at Chev. Then he turned to Lae, still eyeing us warily.

"Lae . . ." he stammered. "I think we're cracking up!"

"No kidding," Lae agreed before looking steadily at Chev, studying him. "You're Theta-636? A.K.A Chevron? Stabbed through the heart by General Grievous at the Battle of Geonosis?"

"See this hole?" Chev answered her, pointing to his chestplate. She nodded. "That's where the 'saber hit home. Nasty ache, trust me."

I shot him something of a side glance before sighing. Sure, I'd had years to "get over it," but just the thought always made me a little uncomfortable. Call me crazy and slightly over-protective, but that has been a pet peeve of mine ever since Chev came back to me. It's been worse since the one night I found him sitting by his grave. Wow . . . that felt strange to say. And then there's the fact that, from time to time, he'd complain of pain in his chest. Back home, I'd taken him to Keldabe a dozen times to get him checked out by a cardiologist, but there was never anything wrong with his heart . . . unless you count it getting bisected with a freakin' _lightsaber_. But there was never any sort of artery blockage or any tissue screaming for oxygen . . . He always checked out as a perfectly healthy man; it was just a residual ache that usually popped up after extreme stress. But I sighed through pursed lips and looked at Lae, nodding a bit.

"The same one," I said simply. Chev nodded faintly. Trent just looked befuddled.

"Then how is he . . ." he stammered. "If he was supposed to be . . ."

How is he alive if he was supposed to be dead? There were times when I asked myself the same question. As morbid as this sounds, there had been evenings when Chev and I would go out and sit with our backs to the twin headstones near the house and just gaze up at the stars. Once Chev even asked me if I was ever "weirded out" by the fact that he was a re-clone; I always told him I wasn't because that was the straightforward truth, Force help me. _Anyway_, poor Trent scratched his head with confusion, struggling to understand. I offered him a tiny smile, clasping Chev's hand between both of mine.

"It's really complicated," I explained, "mostly involving the Imps doing stuff that was greedy by nature but worked out good for us. But . . ." I looked at Chev; he didn't seem to have any apprehension to delving into that story. "If you have the time . . ."

"Only if you're comfortable," Lae jumped in, but then she smiled. "We like stories."

Chev shrugged as if it didn't matter, but I knew it did. While the tale in question eventually worked out to our benefit and happiness, it still had the feeling of a horror story at times. I knew there were dozens of memories from Chev's first days in the Empire that were so awful he couldn't even tell _me_ about them. I patted his arm, and he glanced at me as Trent nodded quickly.

"Yeah, sounds okay to me," he said. "Besides, it could get really interesting. May make a few more questions for you to answer, though . . ."

He gave a faint, apologetic smile, and I looked up at Chev after telling Trent we had a few questions for him and Lae, as well. But I was fully intending to be as gentle with this story as possible; I didn't like bringing up bad memories for Chev since he was prone to sudden onsets of temporary depression (usually lasting only a few hours, though) whenever he thought about the particularly nasty things in his past.

"Are you okay with this?" I asked softly, and he nodded. "Do you want me to kick it off, or would you prefer to? It's your life story, as it were."

"I'll do it," he said, then took a deep breath. His fists clenched once as if he was calming himself before diving into the story. "So, your mom told you two how I died . . . Well, turned out that a few years ago, the _kaminii_ cloners shipped the Imps my original genetic data, who directly copied it."

"A clone . . . of a clone?" Lae asked, glittering amber eyes wide. I refrained from telling her that had been _my_ reaction the first time I'd found out. Chev nodded once, fiercely.

"Damn straight," he muttered. "Anyway, I was tossed into low-ranking guard post; boring to no end. Then, when Rogue here got put in to heal up before . . . _a thing_ . . . she recognized me. Now, I didn't know who I was, but I knew I could trust her, so I did. Got her out, I remembered everything . . . had a couple other adventures."

I stole a look at him, and my eyes glinted mischievously.

"'Adventures'?" I asked. When I said that, Chev had this look on his face of "What are you getting at?" I just chuckled. "Heh, that's funny. One of those 'adventures' ended up being the _wonderful_ world of matrimony."

"You got _married_?!" Trent asked; it seemed as if that was a _liiiiittle_ much for him to handle.

"Sure did," I replied, nodding slowly and thinking back. "Thing was, that didn't happen right off." At this point, Chev muttered "Tell me about it," and, knowing what he meant by _that_, I elbowed him in the side before continuing. "See, we had a bunch of really sad, frightening 'adventures' . . . like the time I got my . . . Oh, never mind."

"Tell!" Trent cried. Now I _knew_ I was in for it, stoking his interest like I had. I just shook my head, realizing I'd talked about too much that I wasn't ready to explain.

"No."

"Please?"

"I said no!" But then I sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Maybe . . . maybe in a bit. It's another one of those touchy subjects. Remember when I mentioned that?"

"Yeah," Trent sighed, looking a bit disappointed. I smiled at him.

"Good kid."

The cell went quiet, but Lae looked as if she was on the verge of asking more questions, for her eyebrow went up in a curious arch. I wasn't planning on minding answering so long as she stayed well away from the subject of my . . . former amnesia. But not five minutes later, there were heavy footsteps outside, and beside me, I felt Chev freeze in place at the sound of them. I could feel every one of his muscles tightening; that always happened when there was a threat and he thought he'd need to fight. As the footsteps drew nearer and thus grew louder, I stiffened as well, clenching my fists into tight, white-knuckled balls. Then I heard voices outside. One was low, growling, and wheezing from time to time—Vader. The other . . . was not. I recognized it. Higher pitched, still just as evil . . . I shuddered to think. It _couldn't_ be!

"That had better not be . . ." I began, muttering to myself before exclaiming. "Oh, _no_."

"Who?" Trent asked, looking at me and sliding across the cell closer to where Chev and I were.

"One or _both_ of your worst nightmares," I informed him. "Seriously."

His mouth formed the word "Oh" even though no sound came out. As the footsteps came to a halt outside the cell door, Lae scampered over and joined us in our little corner. Well, it was nice to know we were all afraid of the same things. _Not!_ She and Trent looked at us as if wondering if we'd protect them, seeing as how we were the big, bad, Mando hunt saboteurs who'd signed on for that job in the first place. I looked at Chev, and he nodded slowly. I knew what that meant. It meant we'd do what we needed to do whether or not the two of us were in danger. But the thought that I could be killed at Vader's hands stabbed icy daggers all up and down my spine. We waited, breath held, for a few moments before the cell door hissed open and Vader strode in. I scrambled even deeper into the corner; I suppose you could say I feared him like the plague. He looked us over with a distinct air of disgust, and Chev looked about ready to pound him into the dirt. Lae's expression was a mix of terror and total hatred; Trent seemed ready to lunge whenever Chev did.

"So, have all the little prisoners been getting along?" Vader asked as patronizingly as ever.

"Get the hell out of here, Vader," I hissed, clenching my fists with courage I didn't feel. He looked straight at me and placed his hands on his belt.

"Do I sense fear in you, Rogue?" he questioned, taking a step or two closer. I desperately tried to swallow that fear. "That's unusual, is it not?"

"You know what's funny," Trent piped up, drawing Vader's attention, "is that I thought you were going to say you _smelled_ fear. And then, in that case, I was gonna suggest that you bathe more often."

Chev smirked, and Lae had to stifle a laugh. Even I cracked a grin at that. That kid had certainly inherited a sense of humor from a _certain someone_ who just _happened_ to be a fun-loving demolitionist. Besides, there was irony in the situation. It was like we were sitting back and saying, "Oh, hey, Death! Look, I'm laughing in your face! Ha, HA!" I jabbed a thumb at Trent, smirking at Vader.

"I like that kid." Trent beamed at me, and I winked at him. Vader scoffed.

"That's wonderful," Vader sneered. "Now that we're finished jesting, perhaps you'd like to meet someone? An old acquaintance, perhaps . . . ?"

He took a step back, and the sight of the next face that appeared in the doorway made my blood run cold. Evil mismatched eyes—one red, one blue—peered around the corner

at me, and my breath whooshed out of me as forcefully as if I'd been slugged in the gut. I felt just about ready to climb the walls as a predatory grin crept its way onto that face. Vader seemed pleased; Chev looked as if he was two seconds from choking some folks to death. Lae and Trent looked a bit confused, but they still knew that evil was lurking in the doorway. Those horrible eyes remained latched on me as my chest started heaving and rage, and the awful smile grew wider.

"Hello, Rogue," she said coolly.

My breath froze in my lungs, and I knew.

_Iceheart._


	6. My Life is Wrecked

**Chapter Five – My Life is Wrecked**

"Well, well, Ysanne Isard, you rhymes-with-witch who totally screwed my life, it's _so_ wonderful to see you again. Not!"

That would've been nice to say, but I didn't. I think I was too stunned to even breathe for a while. It was literally a nightmare coming true. My first thought was an incoherent, jumbled mess that, when straightened out, was about like "Oh no, oh no, oh _no_, she's come back! She's gonna take us back! But I will _not_ go back, not ever, nuh-uh!" I just couldn't believe she was there . . . And the gleam in her eyes? I shuddered to think she was preying on us once more. As if she hadn't caused _enough_ trouble, now she was back?! Or maybe she'd been looking for me and Chev for the past seventeen years, hoping to get us back and mend her error of not using strong enough chemicals to bind us to her side. No doubt she had torn the galaxy apart trying to find us, and who knows how much she'd spent on bounty hunters! I wondered if Boba had been hired for two jobs: snatching Lae and delivering me to the jaws of death . . . again. The thought of that made my head spin, but I tried to stay calm. I glanced to my side, and just from looking at him, I could tell that Chev was about to explode with anger; I was no better. Slowly, I crawled to my feet, feeling sick again, but I was certain it was just rage that was making my stomach churn. I clenched my fists and leveled her with a glare, standing out in front of Chev and the kids. She just smirked at me before glancing around me, her dual-colored eyes latching firmly onto Chev. He went as straight as a board with nervous, angry energy. The predatory smile on her face widened as she stepped into the cell, Vader on her heels.

"Well, well," she said. "TH-636, what _are_ you doing with this bunch of traitors?"

Hatred boiling in his eyes, Chev climbed to his feet and took up a protective position by my side, fists clenched as he leveled Isard with the meanest glare I'd ever seen from him.

"Maybe it's 'cause I ain't gonna work for your _shabla_ Empire ever again," he growled, "not even if you try _it_ again. If you recall, I was able to keep that stuff from _WORKING_ at all!"

"Oh, don't be impertinent, Six-Three-Six," Isard scoffed, waving him off, and I saw Chev's eyes flash dangerously at being referred to as a _number_.

By then, I'd begun shaking terribly but was doing my best to hide it. Of course, that was easier said than done. It was still evident that I was trembling with terror; this I know because Chev eased his hand into mine and gave it a squeeze. I tried to smile but found I couldn't. I was too afraid since, you know, it wasn't like I'd not remembered what she'd done to me. She'd taken away my memory, left me helpless and hopeless. She'd stolen me from Chev, and because of her, I' almost become a depressed, sorrowful alcoholic. But then I' remembered, and life was now pretty good. Well, now it seemed

to have dropped several levels in goodness; I'd say that at that point, my life was leaning dangerously close to the "This Sucks" end of the scale. So, trying to keep my life from falling apart any more (since, after all, getting caught by the Empire and then finding out your worst nightmare is still around is _not_ my idea of a jolly good time), I leveled Isard with the hardest, coldest glare I could muster.

"Get away from us, Isard," I hissed. "You lay a hand on me or any of us, and I'll kill you this time. I swear it."

Vader gazed condescendingly at me and stepped up behind Isard, who was still eyeing Chev with that predatory look so customary of her. I shuddered to think of what sort of evil was running through her mind at the present moment. Who knew what she wanted to do with Chev? For all I knew, she was so inwardly angry that she wouldn't hesitate to rape him and wipe his mind, maybe even in that order if he was lucky . . . if you could call that treatment "lucky." Lae must've sensed my thoughts, because she looked at me with absolute horror and an expression of "She _wouldn't_!" Well, guess what, _ad'ika_. She _would_. But I turned my glare to Vader when he eased up behind Isard, his heavy, mechanical breathing making my ears ring. It made me sick to see him so chummy with the one and only Iceheart. I could've killed them both and not had second thoughts.

"Always with the threats, my dear," Vader said, feigning a sigh of injury. "Don't you think you should be a little more cordial?"

To say that question angered me would be a severe understatement. I was incensed. Livid! Totally and completely twirked off! So, eyes flashing and narrowing, I took one long stride to Vader and spit in his mask. He actually looked shocked at that, because he took a step backward before simply standing there. I clenched my fists, feeling nearly ready to lunge at his throat.

"I'll be cordial to you Imperial scum when _HELL FREEZES OVER_!!" I screeched. Isard looked at me, brow raised.

"No need to be crude like that," she said coolly.

I was so irritated and downright _mad_ that I spit at her, too. I missed getting her in the face, but I got her collar, so I was satisfied. She just flicked it off, pretending not to notice. But, hey. _I_ saw the faint look of "Ew" on her face. Behind me, Lae lifted both hands and shot both Isard _and_ Vader "the" finger. I chuckled under my breath; boy, I was really beginning to like her.

"To think I was raised by people like you," she sneered, then looked down at her hands. "Oh, wait! I _was_! Well, how ironic!"

Trent snickered aloud even as I tried desperately to hide my smile. But I couldn't, so I didn't even try. I just looked at Lae and nodded.

"Their perfect upbringing is manifesting itself," I complimented her, and she chuckled before beaming innocently at me. "Lae, you turned out to be a _perfect_ lady."

I smiled proudly, almost motherly, at her, and I could've sworn I saw a little golden halo pop up over her brown hair. Trent was almost in hysterics. Vader scoffed.

"Your sarcasm is a foreign language to me," he growled.

I don't know how Trent did it, but he managed to get enough air from his suppressed laughing to level Vader with an amused look.

"Well," he said, stroking his chin with false thoughtfulness, "maybe you oughtta study up!"

At that, he doubled over in laughter before Lae shut him up, and Vader looked _very_ tempted to put Trent's throat in a chokehold. I just knew that if he did, I would tear him limb from limb since I was, after all, so very convinced that these were my niece and nephew. And I, ever the over-protective female bear, was prepared to fight to the death to protect them. It was just that in this case, whose death would it be: Vader's, Isard's, or_ mine_? Nonetheless, that didn't really matter at the moment. Our laughter faded as the looks on Vader and Isard's faces went from mild annoyance to outright frustration. So we settled ourselves back on the floor, backs to the wall, and Chev looked up at them, arms crossed.

"Now," Chev said, looking totally bored, "is there a reason you two are in here tormenting us, or is it just to make us feel just at home?"

"Mm, yeah," I sighed, putting a dreamy expression on my face. Isard's expression went sour, and boy, it felt so good to irritate the _osik_ out of her. "Home sweet home in an Imperial prison cell."

"We were simply curious as to how much you would have to undergo in order to be persuaded to our side," Vader answered simply.

Well, needless to say, that put a kink in everything. It wiped our joking and taunting right out from under us. Suddenly, I saw Trent's grin fade and become a much more serious frown. Lae looked a good deal terrified though she was masking it well with a stoic expression. Chev looked downright livid. I think I was just flat-out shocked that they would _dare_ try to get us on their side!

"Forget it!" Trent spat, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "I've served your 'Dark Side' once; never again, no siree!"

That got a brow raised from me. This was one little tale that needed explaining . . . But from the way Lae looked at her brother and from the way she patted his hand, I

figured this was the little thing Trent had mentioned when he'd said "I owe her so much." From the sounds of things, he'd taken a little trip down the Dark Side and Lae had pulled him back. Since I figured I was close enough with my guess, I didn't bother asking. All I knew was that now Trent looked incensed that Vader should even ask such a thing, and Vader just nodded.

"Well, I'd thought it might be difficult to get you," he said, then looked pointedly at me. "But Rogue . . . She served the Empire well."

I stiffened at that thought and shot as hateful a glare I could at Vader. Trent turned and looked at me, and the look on his face told me he was mulling over in his mind the possibility that I could be an honest-to-goodness traitor. Well, I wasn't, and I wanted to tell him so, but with Vader and Iceheart practically breathing down my neck, that was easier said than done. I saw what they wanted now. They wanted Chev to be their loyal Stormie and me to be their loyal hunter-killer. If they could break us, they'd probably break Lae and Trent and make them their little slaves; Vader might even swipe them both for his own and make them his apprentices. Well, that wasn't going to happen as long as I had breath in my body!

"I did it to look after my brother," I tightly informed Vader, fists clenching so hard my knuckles popped.

"Who didn't need you after all," Vader leered. "Pity, that."

I scowled at him and turned around, facing the wall. I wasn't going to take that from him or anyone else. Beside me, Lae took a breath and muttered a long string of curses in Mando'a before raising her voice.

"Like I'd _EVER_ serve the Dark Side again after I was under you _chakaare_ for most of my life!" she snapped. "Never again!"

I just about wheeled around and hugged her, squealing "Attagirl!" I didn't doubt that all of them would stand by me, but it still felt good to have our little mini Rebel Alliance up and running. Of course, I'd have preferred to have been running _away_ from the Empire, but this was okay, too. At my other side, Chev spat at Vader's boots.

"I've already died once for my friends," he barked, just about angrier than I'd _ever_ seen him in all our seventeen married years. "I ain't gonna die for some thrice-damned Empire I don't give a frack about!"

I turned back around and shot Chev a proud grin, which he acknowledged with a single, slow nod. Vader looked at Isard, who looked . . . well, _shocked_ that we all would put up such a fight. I didn't see why she should be surprised; after all, when she'd stolen my memory from me, I was struggling against it the whole way. I was _used_ to fighting for my very life; for a while, that'd been my day-to-day adventure! So, hey, it wasn't as if threatening my life was gonna achieve anything. Threaten my entire family, my way of life, and I might listen. _Might._ But as it was, I wasn't planning on listening, because from the sounds of things, Vader couldn't threaten his way out of a durasteel box! Vader turned to Isard and looked at her a moment, hands resting on his belt and breathing echoing in the cold, darkened cell.

"Madam Director," he said, "it would seem we have a bit of resistance."

He nodded slowly at her, and she nodded right back at him. Instantly, all my senses went on overdrive; something was about to go very, _very_ wrong. I stiffened at the look on Isard's face even as I forced out a defiant "Damn straight." Next to me, Trent and Lae seconded and thirded my little motion, and just as I was about to retort with "Motion carried," Isard came closer and crouched down in front of Chev. She reached out and put both hands on his shoulders, and I wanted to break her arms. They didn't look much stronger than toothpicks . . . It couldn't have been that hard. Besides, Chev had shown me how to snap an arm with one hand even though I hadn't gotten the chance to try it out. But she gazed steadily at him, and I would've given (almost) anything to have known what sort of sinister plans were cycling around behind her two-tone eyes. Chev shot me a cautious glance; I could feel his discomfort with the situation. But finally, Isard spoke, and her voice was calm and cool and even . . . conniving.

"Oh, Six-Three-Six," she sighed. "You poor, poor thing, being tricked in such a cruel, heartless way . . . You see . . . you haven't died. You've probably been tricked by one of these Jedi into thinking you are . . ."

Chev blinked once as I jumped with horror. So _this_ was their evil plan, eh? Steal him from me with their lies and their trickery? How _dare_ they! I would surely kill them now if they took him from me again. My jaw dropped, and I looked at Chev only once. Already he looked confused, and my stomach clenched. They were reeling him in. Well, they wouldn't take him so long as I was around to stop it!

"No, you lie!" I shrieked, turning on Vader. "I was there to see him! You wanna know who held him and wept for him? _ME!_"

To emphasize this, I jabbed a thumb at my chestplate, glaring hard at both Vader and Isard. Over and over, I swore to myself that I'd kill them right then and there if they took Chev from me. At that one moment, every memory that had him in it flooded out across my memory. The one thing that stood out the most, though, was what I'd meant when I'd talked about holding and weeping for him. That was Geo. That was the day I, so tired from running through the canyons, had staggered in and seen the carnage. That was when I'd seen him lying there and when I'd been in such shock that my legs had just given out. I remembered sitting there, staring at him in disbelief, and then realizing I was kneeling in something wet. So I looked down and found myself kneeling in blood-soaked sand, only to realize it was _his_. That was the day I'd been left standing empty-handed and asking "What the hell just happened?!" But now my life was going pretty well; I had Chev back due to that little bout of Imperial greed, we had a bit of a fortune amassed, and so far, nobody had tried to kill us. But heaven forbid that we should ever make a clean getaway, oh, no! It should _never_ be easy for the two of us! Never get a chance to settle down for more than a few days of self-given furlough, never get a chance to maybe raise a family! I shot an angry glare at Vader, but his gaze was on Chev and not me. Isard still had her hands on my Chev's shoulders, and when I realized I couldn't stand that anymore, I grabbed her wrists and threw them away. She would only get her hands on him over my dead body, which, hey, was probably the plan anyway.

"Oh, but she's right, Six-Three-Six," Vader said, being the cunning, conniving son of a schutta he always was. "You've not left this galaxy yet."

Needless to say, my eyes went wide as I turned and looked at Chev only to find that his brows were furrowed in hard concentration. A scream bubbled up in my throat, but I had to fight to keep it down. Behind me, I heard Trent inhale sharply; it seemed he was as shocked as I was, but there was no way that he'd _ever_ be able to understand what was running through my mind. I reached over and clutched Chev's arm, gazing pleadingly at him. All I wanted was for him to look up at the Terrible Two and say "Ha! You failed with your little mind games, you suckers!"

"Chev . . ." I forced out. "_Cyar'ika_ . . . Y—you don't believe them, do you? They're liars, filthy _chakaare_! You _CAN'T_ believe them!"

Chev put his other hand to his forehead, brows still tightly furrowed. By then, I'd begun experiencing doubt and despair. What if they _did_ take him from me? No, no, there was no "What if" in this equation. If they took him from me, I would slit their throats and get him back. That part was simple and already planned in my mind, but I decided early that I wouldn't let them take him away from me. I would _not_ lose him! Call me stupidly stubborn, but I'd weathered enough _osik_-storms to make me as unbending as a durasteel beam! And, at that moment, I decided that death was coming shortly to whoever had come up with that stupid saying "It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." If they said something _that_ dumb, they probably hadn't ever loved _or_ lost! I kept gripping Chev's arm even as he kneaded his forehead with his one free hand.

"I—I don't know . . ." he said slowly, and I noticed a rapacious gleam come to Isard's eyes. That schutta . . . "I . . . I feel like I've died . . . but . . ."

Lae crept up beside me, and I took one glance at her and saw her eyes were fearful. Their gleaming light had faded somewhat; apparently, she was feeling everything I felt. I wondered how she liked the flood of terror and the horrified scream of "NO!" that was threatening to come out of me at any minute. I just squeezed Chev's arm with both my hands, begging him to look at me. When he didn't, I grabbed his face and turned it to me, staring steadily at his eyes.

"Listen to me," I told him firmly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "You _did_ die, as hard as it is for me to admit! Don't you remember how I wore your chestplate? I wouldn't have worn it if you hadn't been dead! I lost you once; don't make me lose you again to these lies!"

"Lies?" Vader's booming voice filled the room as he scoffed at me. "What do you take the Empire for, Rogue?"

"A nest of filthy _chakaare_, like I said!" I spat.

Chev somehow got his arm out of my grasp and clutched at his head with both hands. Suddenly, he looked so unsure. This was all so unreal . . . I couldn't believe this was happening to us! I wondered if he was wracking his mind, trying to find those memories, memories of me, of Larra, Sevvie, the Deltas . . . I wondered if he was searching for them only to find that whatever Force trick Vader and Isard were working on him had made those memories seem false . . . as if they had been planted and he was living a fabricated life. _I_ just wanted him to be able to throw off the shackles that were around his mind. I was terrified; what if they took his memories and made him into nothing more than a Stormtrooper—a _beacon_, in his terminology! One of the things I was afraid of him losing was _us_. I was afraid they'd take away his memories of everything we had together, every kiss, every nighttime whisper of "_Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_." I remembered how I was ticklish right above my navel and how sometimes he'd tickle me there just to get a nearly ear-splitting squeal out of me. Then he'd always laugh and dodge me as I swung a pillow at his head. I didn't want him to lose that because the Empire so desperately wanted him back! But then doubts started bubbling up in my mind. What if he'd been playing along all this time? What if he'd never truly been the Chevron I'd always loved? What if it'd all just been a huge joke . . . a joke that was now on _me_?

_No,_ I told myself. _It was never false. He remembered _everything_. This is just Iceheart and Vader's way of getting back at me, trying to hurt me . . . as usual._

Still, I was terrified. My heart was pounding like a drum, and every inch of my body tingled with adrenaline. I clenched my hand down on Chev's shoulder, but he shuddered beneath my hand. It wasn't the way he flinched whenever he was touched unexpectedly, such as from behind where he couldn't see or hear, or by a stranger; this was instead an all-out shudder of what could only have been mental anguish. As he gritted his teeth, almost clawing at his head, I was about to throw my arms around his neck and tell him I was still there, that it'd be okay. But then the words he forced out took me by such surprise that my breath left me with a hard _whoosh_ as if I'd been punched in the gut.

"I—I'm not . . . I'm not the original Chevron . . ."

I nearly let out a howl of "Nooooooooo!" but forced myself to swallow it. By then, I was trembling like a leaf in a gale. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd shaken like that. But I had to be strong or at least give the appearance of strength. I had to do _something_ to save Chev from whatever Vader and Isard were doing to him! This wasn't "just" my "high school sweetheart," so to speak; this was my _husband_! He and I had been side-by-side for over seventeen years—nineteen, if I remembered correctly. So I turned and scowled _hard_ at them, clenching my jaw so tightly that it grew sore. I was trying desperately to keep myself under control, but when I saw the way Vader was standing there, arms crossed defiantly, and the way Isard's mouth had curved into a cold, preying smirk, I lost it.

"You let him go!" I shrieked. I think that, by then, I was beginning to frighten Lae and Trent. Their eyes were wide with disbelief and evident horror as I screamed at the top of my lungs at the two _chakaare_ who were trying to steal Chev from me. "_You let him go!_ You release him from whatever Force-damn trap you've stuck him in!"

They didn't answer; well, Vader didn't, at least. He just looked at me, breathing still as even and heavily mechanical as ever. Isard's cruel smile grew wider, and I just _knew_ my back was up against the wall. But I'd had my back to the wall before and had kicked out. See, that's the little thing about surviving: the how-to of it sticks with you all your life. I wasn't going to go down this time, and I certainly wasn't going to let them take Chev to hell with them! So I turned and threw my arms around him, holding him as tightly as I knew how. He was trembling, and sweat was trickling down his neck.

"Chev . . . Chev, c'mon," I pleaded, stroking his hair. "They're just messing with your head. Hold on, Chev. Hold on to _me_ if you can't find anything else . . ."

He didn't respond; he was just silent and shaking. So I glared up at Isard. She _had_ to be the one behind all this. No doubt she was still pretty twirked that Lar and the others had come and rescued us. But then again, I couldn't help but wonder if she had allowed us to escape so she could have this moment and revel in my misery.

"Isard, if you take him from me, I swear I'll kill you!" I screamed at her. "You hear me?! You take him from me, and so help me, the last thing you're gonna see is the color of your blood, you lying, filthy schutta!"

She just gazed steadily at me, cold, mismatched eyes fixing me with an apathetic glare. She tsked at me, and I wanted to wring her neck.

"You thought you could deceive him," she said calmly, unfazed by my threats. Well, we'd see how unfazed she was when I slit her throat. "No, I believe it is _you_ who is the liar here, Rogue Fett."

At that moment, I nearly leaped up and lunged at her, but Lae actually held me back. I wrested myself free of her grasp and turned back to Chev, mentally begging him to hold on and fight. I'd asked that of him so many years before, and he had . . . and he'd succeeded. But when he looked into my eyes, it was as if I didn't know him. It was as if he was a total stranger, and the even stranger thing? He looked as if he'd lost all the staunch willpower I'd ever known him to have. His dark brown eyes, which were usually so bright and filled with a smile, were all of a sudden dull, as if the fire had been extinguished. I heard a low chuckle from Vader as Chev sighed and gazed mournfully at me a moment.

"Rogue . . . she's right," he murmured. I swayed a bit from the sudden shock. This could _not_ be happening! But it was. "I—I'm sorry . . . but I'm not Chevron. I . . . I'm just a clone of a clone . . ."

Behind me, I heard Lae softly whisper one word: "No . . ." At that point, I was beyond keeping myself calm. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates, because all my emotions came pouring out. I inhaled sharply, and if I'd been standing, I would've staggered back until I hit a wall. Then the tears came as realization hit me like a fist. _They'd taken him from me._ Well, if they could take him, one of the original ARCs and the damn best commander I knew, _that_ easily, then I could surely try to get him back. Trust me when I say that it's a fitting analogy when I tell you that, even though I tried to tell myself I'd get him back, it felt as if my heart had been split in two. It was like my favorite knife was no longer in its hidden gauntlet but was instead sticking out of the middle of my chest.

"No . . . No, you can't do this to me!" I screamed, drawing very near to purely hysterical sobbing. "You _have_ to remember! You have to remember _me_!"

Again, I got no response. He just looked at me, and the look of . . . of _death_ in his eyes frightened me to no end. Still trying to hold out hope, I tore off my left gauntlet and flashed my hand in his face. What little light there was in the cell glinted off the golden band there on my ring finger.

"Look!" I cried, falling to begging and pleading as a last desperate resort. "Our wedding ring! _Please_, don't do this to me!!" I grabbed his shoulders and gave him a hard shake, trying to search his eyes for some sign but finding nothing. "You hear me?! _REMEMBER!_"

He didn't say anything. He just turned slowly away before carefully rising to his feet. I was so numb with shock and pain that I could only sit there on the floor. I couldn't even get up and grab him, hold him back! He took a breath and looked squarely at Vader and Isard, who were standing there, looking so downright pleased that I wanted to slice those smug looks right off their faces.

"I—I am TH-636 . . . Imperial Stormtrooper . . ."

That was all he said as he slowly reached up and took off his chestplate—the same one he'd worn so long ago on Kamino, the same one I'd taken as my own. He gently set it on the floor near the center of the cell before complacently kneeling at Vader's feet, head bent. And all I could do was watch. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, and I could barely breathe. At my side, Trent was silent from shock. Lae was muttering something along the lines of "No, he _can't_." Vader looked down at Chev—or whoever was in the body I knew as Chev's—and, even with his mask, I could tell he was smiling with devilish pleasure. Then he lifted Chev to his feet and started to leave the cell. Isard flashed me a "Ha, ha, I won" smirk, and I lost it. Again. I let out this inhuman howl of anguish as I picked myself up from the floor and ran at Chev. He turned and looked at me as Vader flicked his hand and I went careening into the wall from that nasty little Force push. When my back slammed into that wall, it sent painful shockwaves up my spine, and, dazed by the jarring impact, I slid to the floor.

"Welcome _home_, Six-Three-Six," Vader said, and I could only watch in horror as I felt his coldly triumphant smile curl on the face beneath his helmet.

And just like that, he was gone. Isard flounced out after him, taking my precious _cyar'ika_ with her. I tried to scramble up and get after them before it was too late, but the cell door was slammed shut in my face. So all I could do was pound fiercely on it and scream curses that went ignored. When no one answered and it sunk in fully that Chev was gone, I staggered to a corner and sank to my knees just in time to throw up. I was expecting to hear a faint, almost cautious "Ew" out of Trent, but nothing was said. All I know was that my head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and my stomach was churning. I stayed hunched over in that corner until all I could manage were a few feeble dry heaves I was trembling to violently that I could hardly move. That was when I felt Lae's hands gently grip my shoulders as if questioning if I'd be all right. Well, I wanted to scream "Like hell I'm not all right!" at her, but I couldn't. I was just too stunned. My Chev, who'd always been so strong and wouldn't take _osik_ from anyone . . . just . . . gone. Like that. A little Force persuasion and poof! Off he goes. But it wasn't his fault; I didn't blame him. But that didn't end the misery. So, unable to walk for my wet noodle-like legs, I crawled out to the middle of the cell and grabbed a firm hold of the chestplate. And once I had it, I curled up in a ball before breaking down in agonized sobbing. I'd only experienced pain like that once before and hadn't thought I'd ever have to again. Lae scooted up alongside me and bent down, offering a hug which I knew she was trying to make as consoling as possible. Oh, sure, I was grateful for her sympathy, but at that point, I didn't want sympathy. I wanted my Chevron back, and I wanted to be witness to Vader and Isard's respective deaths. So all I could do was weep miserably. Lae's hug tightened.

"Hey, it'll be okay!" she soothed. "I've faced worst, and it turned out all right. Ain't that right, _Tren'ika_?"

I picked my head up from my folded arms and looked over at Trent in time to see him nod slowly and maybe even a bit hesitantly. I didn't know what Lae'd been through, but I didn't want to ask. At the moment, all I could think of was _my_ pain and how the Empire had just taken Chev away from me by playing with his mind. I shook my head sadly.

"No . . ." I moaned. "No, no, NO. You don't get it . . . I've lost him twice . . . Never thought I'd have to go through that hell again. I never _wanted_ to go through that again."

At that, I began sobbing again because there was little else I could do. To be honest, there was little else I felt like doing. I just wanted to lie there and cry, and I was planning to hunt down Vader and Isard once I got all my tears out of my system. And when I found them . . . they would _pay_ for what they'd done. As I lay curled up on the floor, Trent slid over and took Lae aside. I knew he was trying to keep his voice low, but I heard him anyway.

"I don't think she's gonna be okay," he said softly. "We have to get him back and _normal_ . . ."

"And kill Vader and Isard," I interjected, cheered by that thought. Lae looked at me and shook her head sadly.

"No," she answered. "I don't think we can kill them yet. But we have to get out of here, with him, and call up the Rebels. I learned a few things while I was in here . . . one of them being that the Empire's building another Death Star."

Well, that was a bombshell. I figured that since a near _kid_ had blown up their first attempt at building superweapons that they wouldn't try it again. But apparently the Emperor wasn't too keen on letting the galaxy go unconquered, so he decided to build another moon-sized battle station. What fun. Note sarcasm.

"We need to tell the Alliance," Lae continued. "If they don't see this one comin', we're all in for it. So . . . we just need to get out of here."

I nodded slowly in whole-hearted agreement. Getting out was one of my two primary objectives, the first one being that issue of rescuing Chev and saving him from whatever that _shabla darjetii_ and his accomplice had done to him. Lae and Trent left me alone as they went off to plot our escape, and from time to time, I caught a few fragments of their quiet conversation.

"Do you think she's—"

"No . . . but we . . . ask Mom."

"So we're goin' . . ."

"Right after we zip that message to the Alliance."

From that, I figured we'd be going home after contacting the Rebellion. But whatever they meant about me . . . I had no idea. So I just rolled over and closed my eyes, trying to doze off but finding that hard to do. Over and over in my mind's eye, I kept seeing that look on Chev's face when he made the declaration of "I'm not the original Chevron." I couldn't get the dull look of death in his eyes out of my head; that scene just kept replaying until I was sick of it. But I couldn't help it, and I couldn't make the images go away. So I just lay there, tears seeping out of my closed eyes, mulling over what had happened. I kept seeing the sudden lack of his smile and the sudden absence of his strength. It had just been so terrifying to look at him and suddenly realize that everything that had made him who he was . . . was gone. Just like that. Heaving a sigh, I pursed my lips and cradled his chestplate to my heart.

_Hold on for me, Chevron,_ I thought to myself. _I swear I'll come for you._


	7. The Message

_Sorry this chapter's so short... Chev ones always are. --T92_

* * *

**Chapter Six – The Message**

Pleased with himself and the results of his visit to the traitors, as he liked to often call them, Darth Vader strode through the long, twisting halls of _Executor_. Madam Director Isard had left shortly after the incident at the cell, more than likely to gloat over it. Ahh, the look on Rogue's face . . . It was more than satisfying to finally take something from her that time could not replace. Vader glanced over his shoulder; his charge was still behind him, walking solemnly along, eyes downcast. Once more, the Empire's star experiment was back in Imperial hands. The Emperor himself had taken a distinct interest in the project and was . . . _displeased_, to put it simply, to hear of the trooper's escape. Several of those involved had met most unpleasant demises. Only a few weeks after the whole ordeal, even Captain Brogan, who had been in charge of training this one who had called himself Chevron, was thoroughly disposed of. It had been a most interesting execution; they had used a hangman's noose and had watched with amusement as Brogan struggled to breathe until his neck snapped. Vader chuckled darkly to himself before looking back again. Chevron was still back there, seeming . . . forlorn? That was hardly possible.

"Are you glad to have returned, Six-Three-Six?" Vader asked him, his voice rumbling. Chevron snapped to attention immediately.

"Of course, sir," he said.

Vader nodded with satisfaction. For a moment, he had feared his influence had failed and that his charge's thoughts had returned to the prison cell and the pathetic little ex-bounty hunter (Vader snarled at the thought of her) inside. She was a traitor to the Empire. What was the word she had used? _Aruetii_? Yes, that was it. It was her word for what he knew she was.

The journey through _Executor_'s halls lasted only a few more minutes before they arrived at a computer room far at the opposite end of the ship. Vader flicked his hand, effortlessly sliding the door open with the Force, and ushered Chevron inside. Ahh, but this one would have to begin referring to himself as his numerical designation again. In time, it seemed. One could not expect too much in one day. It was bad for morale. As Chevron entered the room, Vader waved a black-gloved hand around to indicate the dozens of computers that lined the plain metal walls. It was a library or study hall of sorts; there were hundreds of files and holobooks filled to the brim with every aspect of Imperial military procedures.

"This room is filled with material designed to make you again familiar with Imperial procedures," Vader said as Chevron turned to look at him. "You are to spend the next several hours here until you clean out all the filth with which those traitors may have contaminated your mind; do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," came the docile reply.

It made Chevron's stomach turn to say those words, but he did anyway because he knew something Vader did not. He gave the Dark Lord a salute, and then the Dark Lord was gone. Chevron raced to the now closed door to be sure he was alone before racing for the nearest console. He called to mind every detail of the techniques Sevvie had tried to share with him. Until that moment, they had never seemed important, but as he quickly hacked into the Imperial network, he smiled tightly to himself. Oh, how very well Vader had fallen for his bluff! He'd have thought a Sith Lord would've been able to sniff out a flat-out lie, but apparently Vader had been so blinded by pride that he couldn't. But now there was this little problem. Lae, Trent, and Rogue were still being held as traitors. Rogue . . . He felt sick to think of the look on her face during his whole act. She had honestly believed it was real. He knew that expression of horror on her face would be etched in his memory for a very long time. With a sigh and a fervent wish that Sevvie were at his side, guiding him through the process, he dragged those three profiles up onto the screen. There was Lae, with her glittering amber eyes; Trent, with his permanently infectious sideways grin; and Rogue. He reached out and lightly touched the screen, missing her already. It struck him as interesting that the picture on her profile should be such a good one; usually, profile photos were of horrible quality and always looked as if the person was about to be sick. But with Rogue's . . . She was smiling, and her emerald eyes were gleaming with that smile. Then there was the look on her face that was locked in his mind, the sheer horror in her wide eyes. He shook his head and sighed again as he typed madly at the keypad, deftly clearing the three profiles of any sort of activity that would be viewed by the Empire as treason. His own profile was there, too, but he dared not erase it. Instead, he dragged up a comm line straight to the consoles of the _Chevron_, and after a little more manipulating, he was able to begin recording a message. He took a deep breath and began speaking, his voice quavering.

"Rouge, I'm so sorry I scared you . . . It was the only way for Vader and Isard to trust me enough to get me at some computers so I could clear you and the kids. Don't worry about me . . . I'll figure out a way to get out of here. But I love you. _Darasuum_, _ner cyar'ika_. Please . . . understand."

He bit his lip as he closed out the connection, carefully backing out of the network and being sure not to leave a single trace. He didn't want to because that comm line was his one tangible connection to Rogue. But now he was in and he had to stay just like he was until he could somehow get away. One tear slid down his cheek as he reluctantly closed Rogue's profile and pulled out of the network, but then he brushed it away and resigned himself to inwardly weeping his heart out. That was all he could do as he solemnly returned to his role as TH-636, Imperial Stormtrooper.


	8. Freedom Is Only a State of Mind

**Chapter Seven – Freedom Is Only a State of Mind**

I don't know how long we were in that cell; I basically tuned out everything except the pain in my spirit. I simply lay huddled in a corner, clutching Chev's chestplate tightly against myself as if that'd somehow bring him back. From time to time, Lae would come over and squeeze my arm as a measure of support, and while I really was grateful for that, I never said anything. A guard brought us some water a few hours after Vader took Chev, and I had slipped into such a state of lethargy by then that Lae had to force me to drink some. You probably think I was overreacting, I know, but I'd just lost my husband! Let's be reasonable about this, people! How would _you_ feel if the man you'd loved for over _twenty years_ was suddenly gone from your life because some _shabla darjetii_ and his evil accomplice were good at mind games? That's technically a rhetorical question, but I can tell you right now that you would be as crushed as I was. So that was the reason why I kept silently to myself while we were in that cell; I bade my time by slowly tracing the chevrons on the chestplate, and thinking back over the past and every memory I had in which Chev and I were side-by-side. In my mind, I laughed and cried all over again at our life . . . Yes, I know. It's a depressing thought. But it was also a depressing occasion. And then there was the stabbing pain of a relentless stomachache. I chalked it up to stress since it was only obvious that there was a lot of that around. I kept trying to relax, but as soon as I did, I'd accidentally remind myself of what had happened, and the cycle would begin all over again. That only made matters worse, because then I'd start crying. Never had I been as prone to tears as I was that day, and eventually I called Lae over and asked her to work some sort of Force trick that would make me fall asleep for a while. She looked at me a moment as if asking herself "Can I _do_ that?" but then she put her hands on my shoulders, and I was out in seconds. I was glad of it, too, because I was completely exhausted and felt it would do me good both physically and mentally. So I dozed off into a deep, practically dreamless sleep.

I didn't realize how tired I had really been until I awoke and Trent informed me that it was the middle of the next afternoon. Needless to say, that sort of spooked me, since I automatically started looking around for Chev. But when I saw he was gone, I naturally felt saddened, but Lae scampered over and hugged me. It seemed as if she was more attuned to human emotions than your average neophyte Jedi. That comforted me a bit, but it was nicer when Trent came over and joined the hug fest. We just sat there, me in the middle with my arms around them on either of my sides, for a good long while until we heard footsteps outside. At that, Lae and Trent went tense; I didn't even flinch because I don't think I really even cared. So Vader was coming back to torture us. That was nothing. I was probably a widow by now, so why would I care about a little thing like _torture_? Still, now that I was the only one left, Lae and Trent were ultimately responsibility. I needed to make sure they stayed safe. Maybe this need could be attributed to the fact that I had been trying to protect Lae from my brother when she was kidnapped, but perhaps it was a faint touch of maternal protection I'd always had tucked away but had never gotten to use since I'd never had children of my own. Maybe I was protective of these two because I had a strong feeling that their mother was my best friend and as special to me as any sister. But back to the footsteps in the hall. They grew closer, and as they did, I could tell that there was only one person out there and that whoever it was wasn't that big. His footfall wasn't heavy enough to be Vader's or even Chev's, but there was a faint clacking of armor that ruled out Isard and meant only one thing: Stormtrooper. Of course, just because there was only one of them didn't mean he wasn't coming to escort us off to some torture chamber somewhere. After all, we all know how much I _adore_ Imperial interrogation droids, what with the syringes of truth serum, pain "enhancing" chemicals, anti-coagulants for when they cut gashes in you . . . I sighed, rolling my shoulders back and glancing across to Lae and Trent. They looked so nervous that I really felt sorry for them. Lae was trying to hide it, but I could tell that she felt like a trapped animal who was about to be lead off to the slaughter house. Poor thing. For a moment, I felt like I should just forget my problems and hug her. But I didn't get that chance because at that moment, the cell door hissed open and a single Stormtrooper stepped into the doorway. We all looked questioningly up at him.

"You all are free to go," he said simply, his face obscured by his pristine white helmet. That reminded me so much of the old clone troopers from years back . . . "I'll escort you to your ship."

Well, that surprised the boots right off us. Obviously. Lae and I exchanged a "What the _fierfek_?" look, and Trent rose up on his knees, one brow arched.

"What?" he asked. "Free? _How?_"

The Stormie paused a moment, as if wondering if he should respond or not. After a moment, he did, shifting his grip on his rifle.

"It would seem your records have been mysteriously cleared of all traitorous activity," he explained, and I raised a brow in disbelief. This had to be another of Vader's tricks; no doubt he'd let us go then drag us back and not even hesitate to torture us. "The techs are blaming it on a random power flux."

"So you're just going to let us go?" Apparently, Lae didn't believe this any more than I did; at least, that's what her furrowed brows suggested to me.

"Lord Vader would much rather keep you detained, but since none of our best technicians can locate your records, he really has no right to." The Stormie broke off abruptly and shifted his weight a bit. "I'm unauthorized to give you any information beyond that. Just come along."

He motioned with his rifle out into the hallway, looking almost as if he was half-tempted to just shoot us where we stood and get it over with. Trent decided to break the trail, so he crept out, glancing cautiously around as if expecting some sort of automatic turret to open fire on him. When nothing happened, he nodded at us, and I went out before Lae. I had Chev's chestplate cradled under my arm; no way was I going to let that go. I felt hot tears sting my eyes as I realized that he was still somewhere on _Executor_, serving Vader hand and foot because he simply didn't know any better. But part of me wondered how long Vader would be able to keep duping him. Surely even _he_ couldn't keep up such a Force trick for long . . . and maybe when he finally lost control, Chev would be able to break free and come home. I honestly wanted to raid _Executor_, find Chev, and break him loose, but the Stormtrooper pressed his rifle into my back as if to remind me that he had orders to shoot if we tried to get away too soon. We caught a few strange side glances as we trailed down the corridors to the _Chevron_; I knew it was because folks didn't often leave Vader's clutches in one piece. On what passed for a "normal" day, they . . . ohh . . . left with a crushed trachea or something equally disgusting. But as we walked through the halls to the docking bays, my only thought was how I could save Chev. Call me obsessed, but seventeen years of marriage does strange things to people. Have I mentioned how Chev and I have been known to finish each other's sentences? Oh, well. That in itself didn't matter much at that moment. All I felt like doing right then was finding Vader and Isard and relieving them of their pathetic, scum-sucking existences. Anybody who could ruin my life as badly as they had certainly deserved no less than a blaster to the forehead. But then again, that might just be my typical over-zealousness kicking in. Anyway, since I couldn't very well break free of our Stormtrooper escort and execute the rescue op I had planned, I just followed along complacently, counting our footsteps on the cold floor panels to keep from going insane. After a moment, there was a gentle, supporting hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see her smiling faintly at me.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "Nothing is as it seems to be backstage . . ."

As she winked at me, I lifted one brow before furrowing both of them. I tried to figure out what she meant by that, but my mind was blank. Well, it wasn't blank in the sense of a lack of knowledge, but it was churning so much, trying to make heads or tails of everything that had happened, that I couldn't think straight. So I just sighed and shrugged as we reached the docking bays and the Stormtrooper pushed us through the door. He handed us our weapons in a small locked safe; apparently the Imps didn't want to take any chances on us. Then he just stepped back and let us go, and I did a quick check for any sort of tracking device before hesitantly heading up the loading ramp. I didn't want to go as long as Vader had Chev in his clutches, because it had long since occurred to me that I was never the real prize. They had always wanted only their precious little "experiment" back, and now they had him . . . but not for long if I had anything to say about it. And trust me when I tell you that I sure as hell had something to say about it; I had about two dozen Mando curses planned for when I finally had Isard in my grasp. Perhaps I'd never get to do Vader in, but if I got a chance to at least get a punch in on his mask, that'd be fine. As I stood on the ramp, scanning the catwalks above for any sign of Chev so I could cast one meaningful glance in his direction or of Vader so I could pull out my blaster and shoot him. Simple, direct, and oh-so-satisfying. But I saw no one; the docking bay was like a tomb, and I felt just about like the corpse in it. I remembered how _dead_ I'd felt when I'd lost my memory; this was almost like that except that it was worse. It felt like half my body had gone numb. Now, I'm as much a Force sensitive human as a boulder is, but I've never doubted that there's been some sort of bond between Chev and me. (For explanations on bonding, please see Larra. She's got this strange bond with Scorch that lets them communicate telepathically _and_ feel whatever the other is feeling—or at least that's how it's been explained to me. In cases of injury, this isn't the grandest occurrence, but oh well . . .) But I was forced to shrug off (or at least ignore temporarily) the feeling of cold and death that had swept over me, because Lae poked her head out of the _Chevron_ and took me by the hand to pull me inside. Apparently, she was impatient to get a move on; or maybe she was afraid the Imps would open fire on us if we didn't leave. I'm sure there were a few fellows trying to keep Vader at bay only to find themselves staggering back and struggling to breathe. But I complied with Lae's gentle tugging, and I headed into the ship, ducking under the bulkhead and slamming the switch for the loading ramp. After directing Lae to see that everything was in order and that we had no Imperial stowaways, I headed to the cockpit to get us in the air. I had just gotten the engines prepped and was ready to back out of the docking bay when Lae returned and gave me an all-clear. We were out of there in another minute, and it wasn't a moment too soon. Oh, sure, it was a lot _later_ than I would've liked, but it wasn't too soon! As we left _Executor_'s docking bay behind, I glanced up at the rear cam feed and sighed, mouthing "I swear I'll come back for you, Chev," to no one but myself. After that, I had just gotten a course set for _Manda'yaim_ and was reaching for the hyperdrive switch when Trent suddenly scooted up beside me and pointed at a small section of the console.

"Hey . . ." he said slowly, pointing emphatically at a ponderously blinking red light on the dash. "There's a transmission or something stored on the comm. See the blinkey light?"

I turned around and raised a brow at him. If this kid truly belonged to who I figured he did, then I'd have to give Lar a good talking-to next chance I got. For starters, he was overly obvious. And another thing: his vocabulary was _so_ extensive. Note sarcasm.

"'_Blinkey_'?" I asked, nonplussed.

Trent just shrugged and rolled his eyes, and Lae shook her head at him in a fashion typical of big sisters; I knew this because I'd rolled my eyes at Boba in a very similar way. Of course, I'd also given him more than one wedgie . . . As a play on the Mando slang for _headbutt_—"Keldabe kiss"—I'd called _those_ "Keldabe hugs" because I normally worked one over on him under the pretense of "C'mere and let _gar ori'vod_ hug ya!" Okay, so _Jang'buir_ had always chided me as soon as The Rodent began yelping and squirming, but I figured he'd always thought it a bit funny. Then again, maybe I'd just figured out why Boba had turned out the way he had . . . Whoops. But there I go again, rambling and getting off the subject. Lae looked at me before nodding at the light as she eased into the co-pilot's seat—the one with the dent in the seat from where Chev had spent many an hour sitting as we traveled from one planet to the next. Always on the move; that's us! Or . . . it _was_.

"Well, let's see who it's from and what it's about," Lae suggested, meaning the stored message indicated by the "blinkey" light.

"Oh, what the heck," I shrugged. "We don't have anything to lose. It's probably just Vader saying, 'Ha ha, we may have let you go, but we're tracking you, so nyah, nyah, _nyah_.'"

"Why do I get the feeling that Vader wouldn't say that?" Trent replied, deadpan.

I clenched my fists, grumbling under my breath. That kid was getting so irritating that it was almost like having a little brother all over again. I nearly slugged him one but restrained myself by reminding myself of that strange maternal protection I'd felt toward him and Lae. So I settled for glaring at him as I reached over and pressed the button beneath the "blinkey" (I'm _so_ not letting that one go) light. There was a little static before a 3-D holo image patched through, and I nearly tumbled out of my seat when I recognized just who was in this message. I felt my jaw go slack at the message began to play, but I didn't stop it. I just sat heavily back as my breath went out with a shocked _whoosh_. It was Chev.

"_Rouge, I'm so sorry I scared you . . . It was the only way for Vader and Isard to trust me enough to get me at some computers so I could clear you and the kids. Don't worry about me . . . I'll figure out a way to get out of here. But I love you. _Darasuumner cyar'ika_. Please . . . understand."_

The grainy, slightly blue image smiled a pained smile at me before it crackled and faded. By that time, tears were rolling down my face, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth because it had fallen open and I couldn't close it again. I just stared in disbelief at where the holo had been, shaking my head rapidly.

"Oh, Force . . ." I gasped, heart pounding in my ears as what he'd done fully clicked for me. "Oh, _Force _. . . Oh, gods . . . He was . . . it was . . ."

It was all I could do to sit back and try to take a breath, but I just couldn't. My limited knowledge of the human body told me that even if I passed out from lack of oxygen, I'd automatically start breathing again, so it wasn't _that_ important. Nonetheless, I managed a ragged breath, and beside me, Trent took hold of my hand and just squeezed. Lae sighed and looked at me, eyes apologetic.

"I hate to say this . . ." she began, "but I figured as much—especially considering the fact that he didn't take off your wedding ring."

Here she paused and looked at me again, and I felt like smacking my head into the wall. I should've _known_ that if a man who's been brought back to life could survive _that_, then there was no way he'd be taken by a few little mind games. But how he'd been able to resist them . . . I didn't even stop to think about that. All I could think about was getting back and getting Chev out of there! Since he was faking it, I had no idea how long it'd be before Vader found out! My hand shot forward for the switch that would drop us out of hyperspace; I had every intention of turning that boat around and full-throttling back to _Executor_. My freighter had a pretty darn good pair of laser cannons mounted on it, and I figured that while we might not quite survive a direct assault on that SSD, I knew we could blast our way past the docking bay shields and land; our weaponry would take care of any troops we found. But just as I dropped us out of hyperspace, Lae reached over and grabbed my hands. She spoke in a long strand of techno babble as well as long strings of hurried Mando'a, but my poor, frazzled little brain eventually wrapped itself around the concept that she wanted to call the Rebels. I didn't get all that she said, but I got the idea that the Empire was rebuilding the Death Star . . . I was still in such shock from Chev's message that I just put my hands up, relinquished the controls to her, and headed for Chev's and my dorm after grabbing his chestplate from where I'd left it. Upon seeing my face in the mirror, I realized that I looked horrible with the red splotches and salty streaks, so I grabbed a cloth and began to wash it off. As I patted my face dry with a relatively clean towel, I glanced across the room to where a photo of the two of us sat on a footlocker beside the bunk.

"Oh, Chev," I sighed, studying the grin on his face and the glitter in his eyes and finding it amazing that a mere _picture_ could capture that so well. "Y'know, if I weren't against it, I'd so kill you. Scaring me like that . . . You could've warned me! Sure, I said it'd probably be good if one of us played the role of traitor, but I hadn't thought . . . Force, if you _ever_ try that again . . . !"

I left my threat unfinished as I exhaled heavily and sank down onto the bunk. I wasn't so sure how smart it was to leave Lae and Trent in charge, but I was so drained that I didn't even really care. I just tumbled into bed and snuggled down, cradling the picture close to me. I guess I'd been expecting it to ease the pain, but when I rolled over and caught the comforting familiarity of Chev's scent on the pillow next to mine, I burst into tears. The last time I'd been that close to him, he'd told me that everything would be all right. Well, it wasn't, and I was miserable. Flying away from that ship was one of the hardest things I've ever had because I knew now that Chev had willingly stayed behind so that the kids and I could escape unscathed. My heart was broken because I could feel the faint trembling in the floor panels that came from the hyperdrive, and I knew that we were racing farther and farther away. That meant that my _cyar'ika_ was in my hypothetical rear-view mirror, and that hurt. And, well, I was afraid that Vader would find out he'd been tricked by a rather clever soldier. I shuddered to think of what would happen to Chev if his secret were ever discovered. But what bothered me most was that there I was, flying away from him even though I'd sworn never to abandon him. I was miserable. So I just squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped my arms around his pillow, burying my face in it and silently counting down the hours until we got home.


	9. Home Again

**Chapter Eight – Home Again**

By the time we reached Mandalore, I'd had a long nap that actually turned out to be rather refreshing, and it was nearing sunset on the planet. That was always my favorite time of day, so I went to the nearest window and glanced out as we broke atmo. But then I realized I hadn't told Lae where to dock, so I raced up to the cockpit only to find her steering us in the direction of nothing other than the Fett homestead. That was naturally a great shock; either she'd read my mind or a certain Mando _jetii_ and her family still lived here. We circled the house before setting down beside it, and as soon as we were settled, Lae scampered to the loading ramp and stuck her head out of the ship.

"Ah, the smells of home," she sighed, inhaling deeply of the crisp scents of pine trees and fresh air. "I wonder if there's a welcoming committee . . ."

Naturally, there was nothing there—nothing except chirping crickets and a gently blowing breeze. Lae frowned as I silently crept up behind her.

"It's quiet in this part," I said softly, mostly to myself, remembering how it was when I was growing up there and even a bullfrog croaking too close to my window would wake me up. It was just so . . . peaceful out there on those plains, and peace was what I needed at the moment. "We're basically out in the nowhere lands."

Trent came up beside me, sighed, and put his hands on his hips. I put my arm around his shoulder as he frowned at the emptiness.

"You can say that again," he grumbled.

"I could," I replied, chuckling wryly, "but I won't."

Lae just smiled at me before her gaze locked onto something far off in the distance. Her smile widened until she was out-and-out beaming, and she pointed at it to draw my attention.

"Wait a sec," she said. "I think I see somethin' comin' . . . looks familiar . . ."

And sure enough, it did. Over a nearby hill appeared five sets of armor, and my breath caught. This was _exactly_ what I needed on the worst day of my life, period! The fading sunlight glinted off the armor, shooting making it all flash like lightning. A wide grin spread across my face as I stepped out of the ship, waving like a madwoman. And, believe it or not, I was noticed. Soon, one of the five armored figures started running toward me. I just kept waving, grinning so big that I completely forgot my troubles for the time being.

"_Su'cuy gar, vode!_" I sang out.

The next second, Larra slammed, full-speed, into me and scooped me into one heck of a huge hug. My breath whooshed out of me as she threw her arms around me, but I didn't much care. She was laughing, I was laughing, and we just hugged. I guess it was the first time in literal years that we'd seen each other, so we were naturally very happy. Eventually, though, she broke away from me and hugged Lae and Trent as I hugged the Delta boys. We _finally_ got all our hugs finished, and there were big grins on every face. Lae was nestled up next to Scorch, resting her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Well, that thoroughly solved the "mystery" of her parentage. Sev playfully rubbed Trent's head; I figured that was a "favorite nephew" thing going on there. For a split-second, I felt a pang of remorse that I had no children. Larra was still more fortunate than I in that respect . . . not to mention the respect that her husband was standing five feet away from her while mine was light-years away. But I put on a smile, and Larra just looked at me for a few minutes before shaking her head in disbelief.

"Force, we all thought you and Chev had fallen off the face of the galaxy!" she exclaimed. Another pang of regret. "Where is the rascal, anyway?"

At this, I felt my face fall. Lae noticed this and sighed, squirming away from Scorch. She took her mother's hand, as if trying to get Larra ready for what she was about to say.

"Mom . . . we had a bit of a complication—all right, a _lot_ of complications."

"She's right," I sighed, decidedly not making eye contact with anyone. "We had a few problems . . ."

I was trying to skirt the issue, but Trent made it worse by returning to the _Chevron_ and bringing back Chev's chestplate. I wasn't looking at them, but I heard the sharp inhales that followed as soon as everyone saw the plate. I felt as if I were going to cry again (which was strange; I'd never been that prone to tears), but I hurriedly blinked to keep myself steady. I barely heard Larra disbelievingly breathe my name, and I glanced up. Boss's lips were pursed with concern, Scorch looked mournful, Sev was stoic as usual, and Fixer's expression was almost unreadable.

"There's only one thing that means, then," Boss said softly, and Scorch took a step toward me.

"Oh, no," he said. "Rogue, I'm so sorry . . ."

"No, no!" I cried, waving my hand. I simply couldn't let them think that Chev was dead. That would've been unfair. "He's alive! He's just . . . M.I.A. Sort of. I—It's a long story, but I guess I owe you an explanation . . ."

"You sure do," Larra nodded, seeming relieved that her brother was alive but concerned that he wasn't with me. She glanced at Lae and Trent. "All three of you do."

At this, Lae sighed and almost rolled her eyes—typical teenager. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other before finally speaking.

"Mom, Vader was after me _again_. I wasn't going to put you all in more danger while you were out on a mission, anyway."

". . . Ah." Larra seemed skeptical, and she crossed her arms. Yep. I could see where Lae had gotten it.

"Boba showed up to nab her," I explained. "Chev and I were there, so we tried to stop him. But he stunned me, nearly knocked Chev out, and took Lae anyway. We met Trent before we tracked the _Slave I_ to Vader's flagship, where they threw us all in prison . . ."

"And some really spooky things happened," Trent finished with a decisive nod. I desperately fought back an eye roll. That kid was too much. Scorch looked questioningly at his son.

"What sort of spooky things?"

Trent opened his mouth to reply, no doubt with a highly embellished version of what _really_ took place, but I beat him to it.

"Like Chev," I answered quickly. Trent seemed miffed that I'd spoiled his fun. I ignored him. "They were trying to 'persuade' him to believe that he wasn't real, so to speak."

"You don't mean . . ." Larra's eyes went wide, and it seemed as if her knees were going weak. Trust me when I say that seeing Larra Fett's knees tremble is a _very_ rare occurrence. Lae hurriedly jumped in, both physically and verbally. She grabbed a hold of Larra's elbow to keep her from falling, and then she quickly answered.

"He didn't fall for it, though," she said. Larra seemed to relax, but only slightly. "He bluffed Vader into _thinking_ he had. He was the one who helped us get out."

At that, Larra nearly exploded. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and the Delta boys each took a wary step back. When I saw her fists clench, I followed their lead and backed away, feeling, for maybe the first time, actually _afraid_ of my best friend. But then again, maybe that was because my best friend and sister-in-law was capable of killing me with—I dunno—her _pinky_.

"And you LEFT HIM THERE?!" she shrieked. It felt as if her piercing gaze was locked right on me, as if everything was my fault. "In IMP HANDS?!"

I threw my hands up in self-defense, trying to get her calmed down. I knew how she was when it came to her family; maybe that was because I was the same way, in a sense.

"I didn't want to, but he left me no choice!" I cried. "Something he did to the Imp network convinced them that we weren't traitors after all, so they rounded us up, led us to my ship, and sent us on our way! But, please, believe me, Lar—I did _not_ want to leave him there!"

Even then she didn't seem to calm down. She didn't seem to even _begin_ to relax until Trent pressed Chev's chestplate into my hands, walked over to Larra, and looked her straight in the eye. That was the first time he'd even seemed remotely close to being at least partially mature.

"_Udesii_, Mom," he said. "She's not lyin'. You should've seen the fuss when he went off with Vader. She really believed it was for real, that she'd . . . lost him."

"He seemed really good at it for some reason," Lae added, nodding. "You think you might've affected him unknowingly, Mom?"

Larra looked at her a bit strangely, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Uh, no. Why?"

"Well . . ." Lae looked at me, sighed, then looked back at Larra. "He used the Force to bluff Vader. _That_ I'd call weird in the extreme."

At that, my eyes went wide, and I just _stared_ at Lae for the longest time. Chev had used the _Force_? But . . . that just wasn't possible! _Jang'buir_ was never Force sensitive; Larra had only turned out like she had because she had some ancestor back up the line who was sort of reincarnated in her! (And no, I don't fully "get" that whole story, so you'd be better off to ask Lar herself.) Sure, I knew that Chev often got "bad feelings," but I'd always figured that he just had either a really good sense of potentially problematic situations or he was immensely paranoid. Then again, _I_ was known to be immensely paranoid from time to time, but I never had bad feelings like he did. Maybe there was something to what Lae was saying . . . but I realized that I suddenly felt . . . well . . . _cornered_. I felt that the words "he used the Force" meant that as soon as I rescued Chev from Vader, he'd be taken away from me and maybe even trained. I suddenly felt as if everything was going to be irreparably wrecked and my life would be forever ruined. Everything would change. Quite frankly, I didn't _want_ things to change! In case you haven't noticed, I am not a huge fan of change! The Clone Wars brought change; I fought that with everything I had and I _still_ came out on the losing side. The fall of the Republic brought change; I very nearly was killed for doing what was right. And now there was this sudden possibility that something had gone wrong when Chev was re-cloned so that he now had these Jedi powers. I decided that even if that were so, I wouldn't tell him; sure, I knew it was selfish, but I can also list on one hand the number of times that I've ever done something for me and only me! While I was mulling this over, Trent had joined the conversation.

"Yep, I felt it too," he said. I felt curiosity strike; Larra had managed to give birth to not one but _two_ Force sensitive children? Interesting . . . "I just thought it was Vader bluffing _him_, though. I didn't think . . ."

He shrugged and glanced at me, and I must've looked somewhat weak in the knees, because he scampered over and put a hand on my shoulder as he asked if I was all right. I just nodded.

"Y—yeah," I said quietly. "I just . . . I'm just wondering if it's even possible for _him_ to have the Force, too."

"Ah, who knows?" Sev shrugged. "Mess with genes enough times and you might get somethin'."

Thankfully, that seemed to end that discussion. He reached over and affectionately ruffled Trent's pitch-black hair, mentioning that it was good to have the boy back. Trent just grinned, and I felt like I needed to bow out and let them all have their family time. I was certain that if I tried that, Larra would protest and say I was their family, too, but at that moment, I certainly didn't feel like it. I was tired; I was lonely; I wanted my Chev back; I wished I'd been as blessed as Larra to have children . . . I just sighed and looked away as Larra took Lae's hands.

"I'm just glad that Vader didn't try anything this time, _La'ika_," she said simply, and I had to bite my lip as mother and daughter embraced. Force forbid I should ever be fortunate like that—note sarcasm. I couldn't exactly say as how I'd ever been _jealous_ of Larra, either . . . that was a whole new emotion. But I felt a little less sorry for myself as Lae put her hands on her mother's arms and bowed her head, eyebrows furrowed sadly.

"It's my fault," she sighed. I bit my lip harder. "I think . . . I think Chevron knew somehow. And he willingly sacrificed himself . . . so we could get out . . ."

Larra gently cradled her daughter close, pressing the head of beautiful silken brown hair to her shoulder. I swallowed hard, feeling guilt squeeze in next to the jealousy, fear, and all the other emotions.

"Never thing that, _ad'ika_," Larra replied softly. "It's never one person's fault."

_Except when it's _my_ fault,_ I added mentally. _I never should have let him. I should've come up with a better plan._

I looked away, gaze downcast. Now, more than ever, I felt out of place, and that's not mentioning how desperately I missed Chev at that moment. It had been so long since we'd been apart . . . We'd sworn never to be again. I started to slink off to the house to at least try to cheer up on my own, but Scorch came up beside me and kindly gripped my shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay," he soothed. "We'll get him back, and in one piece, too!"

Ah, Scorch. You're the best brother-in-law I've ever had. Sure, you may be the _only_ brother-in-law I've ever had, but that's only a matter of semantics. His perpetual optimism never failed to bring a smile—even one so small it was barely visible—to my face. And that's what I gave him as I reached up and put my hand on top of his: an itty bitty, hardly visible little smile.

"I hope so," I replied. "I just . . . His acting was so _good_ . . . He scared me."

"I know," Scorch said, gently wrapping his arms around me in a brotherly hug. "But don't worry about it. He'll be fine."

I snuggled into his comforting embrace, all the while thinking that Larra was extremely blessed to have ended up with a man like him. After a moment, I felt another pair of arms around me, and then a familiar voice.

"Besides," Larra said, "Chev's gone through the toughest training know to the galaxy. Jarred, you know what it was like; think just maybe three times as hard. Chev'll make it. Our worst concern, though, is trying to get him before he really _does_ defect . . . if that even happens."

Well, that little statement aroused the feisty, devoted wife within me, and I pushed back from Scorch, leveling Larra with a decided glare. Both of her eyebrows went straight up, and I knew she saw that burst of stubborn fire in my eyes.

"He won't," I said firmly. "He _wouldn't_. He wouldn't betray _everything_. He wouldn't betray me, or you all, and _especially_ not himself."

I think Boss sensed that if I was allowed to continue on my little tirade, I'd eventually just explode, so he hurried over and grabbed my hands—ever the peacemaker.

"Hey, hey, _udesii_!" he said, giving my hands a squeeze even as Trent snuggled up beside me. "He'll be fine."

I exhaled heavily, realizing how close I'd been to simply snapping, and I looked down at the ground. Trent hugged my right arm as Lae came up and hugged my left. It seemed that they'd adapted to my being their Aunt Rogue rather quickly. I shook my head, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Lae squeezed my hand. "I've just been . . . really shaken up since then."

"I get it," Larra said gently, lifting my chin up so she could look me in the eye. She offered a sympathetic smile as she squeezed my shoulder, and I was _this_ close to assaulting her with an enormous hug. "Don't worry, _vod'ika_. We'll get him. You'll see!"

I _wanted_ to believe her, but all I could think about was how I'd get Chev back and how soon I'd be able to accomplish it. My head was literally spinning from the strain, so I just murmured my thanks and another apology before heading for the house. I crossed the threshold and went straight to the room that had belonged to Chev and me ever since our rather wonderful wedding night seventeen years before. I immediately shut the door behind me, tugged off my armor, and hit the shower. That nice, hot bath didn't fix my problems, but it sure as heck made me drowsy. As soon as I climbed out and pulled on a pair of comfy trousers and a comfier tunic, I toppled into bed and just lay there on my stomach for all of five minutes before I fell blissfully asleep. I was only bothered once, and that was with a soft knock at the door and a quiet call of "Aunt Rogue, Mom's got dinner ready." I naturally didn't respond; I just wanted to sleep. I figured it was just because I'd been under a lot of stress and needed to relax for a little while. After all, there would be other meals, right? Right. So I just stayed in Chev's and my room the rest of the night, taking multiple cat naps until my usual bedtime rolled around; then I just slept right on through the night. I'm not sure a maglev train could've even awakened me then.

When morning came, I began plotting my rescue of Chev, and my life's busyness went into overdrive as the Deltas, Larra, Trent, and Lae all offered their assistance. At Larra's request, Sevvie swung by from Keldabe to help out, what with his knack for computers and all. The idea was that he would hack a few networks and do some research to find out how we could best go about saving Chev. Naturally, I spearheaded the entire operation, the entire time allowing my mind to be completely consumed with thoughts of getting my husband back. I honestly thought my life couldn't get more hectic until I came to the startling realization one week that I'd skipped a couple months with my cycle and that I'd simply been too busy to notice. Suddenly, I was filled with something akin to fright; what if . . . ? All of a sudden, my mind was filled with thoughts of things other than arranging an assault on Vader's flagship, and it got so bad that I couldn't even sleep at night. A clandestine trip one evening to Keldabe's med center leveled me with a two-ton durasteel brick's worth of shock: I was pregnant.


	10. Six Three Six

_Many, MANY thank-yous to JaxSolo for yet another round of Chev journal entries. --T92._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Nine – Six-Three-Six**

_[[Datapad of Chevron Fett, reinstated TH-636_

_[[Entry One Begins._

_Oh, Rogue, why did you have to trust in me so much? The look on your face when I knelt before that _darjetii hut'uun_ you know we both despise so . . . At least Sevvie taught me enough to get you and Lar's kids out of there. Now I have to embark on my biggest acting stint ever: a mere Stormtrooper on the flagship of none other than Darth Vader himself. _

_I think I feel sorry for all the holoactors now, but I'd bet my old rank that they've never_ ever_ done such a life-threatening role in their fancy careers. And if I screw it up, I don't get a take two. I'll be dead._

_But those're bad, pessimistic thoughts. Where's Scorch or Sevvie to lift my spirits when I need 'em?_

_[[Entry One Ends._

* * *

_[[Entry Two Begins; three weeks after Entry One._

_I should get an award for keeping this act up this long without Vader suspecting a thing! Damn, I'm good. But I'm skating on thin ice here._

_First off, I've wrangled my way up the ranks from simple beacon to a captain. Hey, whaddaya know, an officer! Not. But, yeah, I'm a higher-up now. What joy—especially when I'm a confidante of Vader's, at that. Rogue'd flip if she ever found out that little factoid._

_But there's more to this secondary life than just marching around, ordering beacons around in drill after drill, and listening to Vader's secret and very anti-Palpatine plans. If the old _shabuir_ ever got wind of what he's got up his sleeve, it'd mean Vader's death, fast. Even better, turns out lots of practice with Sevvie's computer tutorials might've made me nearly as good as him, because in my off hours I can hack into the Imperial network and find all the big top-secret projects, including Death Star II, over the Sanctuary Moon of Endor. I've memorized most of the specs, so I think things oughtta be safe on my end._

_I just hope that I can get this info out to the Alliance or somebody with the resources to get it to the right people._

_[[Entry Two Ends._

* * *

_[[Entry Three; two weeks after Entry Two._

_Sith spit, Sith spit, Sith SPIT! After all that work and covering my tracks . . ._

_I was caught in the wrong folders. I might have closed out fast enough to not get a trace, but I doubt it. Especially considering the com I just received from Big, Black, and Scary himself. But I'm taking what info I've got . . . and I need to fix my records. I don't care if Rogue's still thinking twice . . . I hope she got the message I left for her . . ._

_[continued, three hours later, en route to ISD _Relentless

_I've been reassigned . . . some older Imp Star destroyer called _Relentless_. I wouldn't be surprised if it were the one that one of Lar's friends from Omega Squad told me they'd been on. But anyway . . . It's Rim-bound, in the Kashyyyk sector. I'm going to be stuck in charge of all the beacons on the rust-bucket _Relentless_ is. The joys of command . . . It makes me miss being a hunt saboteur, hungry for vengeance against that slime Boba. Well, if he and I ever meet again, he's getting everything coming . . . twice over. Just one last thing . . . it's said the Trandoshan slavers've been very active in this sector for several years now . . . and that worries me. Hopefully they'll keep their snouts off . . ._


	11. Tired of Waiting

**Chapter Ten – Tired of Waiting**

You know what's next to impossible? Trying to keep a pregnancy hush-hush even when you want to tell someone. I wanted to tell Larra about it more than anything—well, maybe not more than _anything_. I would've loved to have been able to tell Chev. I mean, let's face it. I was a shade or two over forty and was only now having my first child. Maybe that was why I tried desperately to hide it: I was nervous about too much hype. Or maybe I figured that if Lar knew, she'd make me stay home from our little rescue plan. Thus, I did everything I could to hide the changes I was going through. I hid the occasional sickness extremely well, but the fatigue was slightly harder to mask. I managed, however, and I eventually found that the thing I'd have to worry over primarily was my waistline. I've always been a rather petite girl, so I knew that any thickening in my figure would draw attention, and attention was what I did _not_ want until Chev was safe at home and I could tell everyone. Well, I had plans. I secretly let out the middle panels of my armor at the first sign—even though it was _extremely_ faint—of my waist widening, and I "lost" almost all my tunics so that I was "forced" to buy new ones—in a slightly larger size, of course. There were times when I thought Lar was getting suspicious, but even if she had it figured out, she never said a thing. It was just that . . . sometimes, I'd catch her throwing knowing glances at me. I actually think I gave myself away once, though: Chev had been away for weeks, and I had a particularly bad morning of missing him. My rescue plans had barely progressed since Sevvie delivered the awful news that he'd lost his connection and couldn't track Chev until it was fixed. That news, paired with my little secret and my high stress level, sent me over the edge. One morning, I woke up missing Chev so badly that I could barely get out of bed. I just sat on the edge of our bed, staring at my clasped hands, trying not to cry, and thinking of the child whose birth I hoped he'd get to see.

Larra found me sitting there after Lae saw me and ran concernedly to tell her. I didn't even look up when she came in; I just stared at my hands. The door clicked quietly, then there were soft footsteps, and the mattress squeaked as Larra sat down beside me.

"How're you doing?" she asked quietly. That was the moment when I realized she knew.

"Pretty good," I answered simply. We didn't say anything more, and I tried to be stoic, but eventually I couldn't take it anymore and broke down. "I miss him so much! I'm scared he's never gonna come back, a—and I—"

I broke off there before I said anything I didn't want to, and Larra reached over and took hold of my hand.

"Rogue," she said gently yet firmly. "If he were smart, he would've run! What with that survival and all, he'd know places to go hide and call us."

"B—but he hasn't!" I sputtered, feeling myself tottering on the verge of hysterics; I attributed _that_ to all the hormones hopping around in me because I wasn't normally so prone to tears. "It's been so _long_, Lar. He hasn't called, written . . . anything. He could've escaped by now and come home . . . I—I think Vader found out and had him . . . had him . . ."

I bit my lip and blinked rapidly, unable to bring myself to say the word _executed_. I must've looked pretty pitiful because Larra just gathered me into her arms and hugged me close. I was so afraid that maybe Chev might be gone for real this time, and all I could do was just whimper into Larra's blouse until her firm, supportive hug got me calmed down enough to think rationally. As I pulled away from her, she handed me a handkerchief, and I used that to wipe my eyes and blow my nose until I stopped crying. She took my hand again and gave it a squeeze.

"Sevvie's got his connection up and running again," she informed me. My heart hopefully skipped a beat as I shifted nervously. "I can ask him to do some poking around, see where Chev is. That sound okay to you? Maybe . . . we can make sure. Then . . ."

She trailed off and just squeezed me again. I nodded, trying to get myself back to normal. Oh, curse these maternal hormones! They do _strange_ things to me . . . I glanced down at my left hand and fiddled with my wedding ring for a moment before I took a breath.

"Please," I said calmly, making a conscious effort to keep myself from going hysterical. "I don't want to lose him again. If we somehow get him back . . . I'm _so_ tying him down."

Larra chuckled good-naturedly, and I cracked a grin. We both knew that I'd have a hard time doing that. Chev wasn't one to be forcefully kept in one place for two long. She patted my knee before standing to head off and find Sevvie, and I jumped up after her. It was only right that I would want to be there to find out about my own husband. Perhaps I had a little _too_ much faith in Sevvie's talents, but let's face it: he was the only person I knew who could hack _any_ network and come out completely undetected. And heck, he was my _brother-in-law_, after all; I had total faith in his skills.

We walked out of the house and around back to where there was a large garage-like building. It was Sevvie's territory and was the place where he built and played with all his technological gizmos and where he took care of our two ships: the _Chevron_ and the old rust-bucket of a freighter that Larra and crew used for their assignments. So Sevvie's electronics emporium was where we headed. Larra didn't even knock on the door before she shoved it open and let both of us in. There we found Sevvie hunched over his workbench, tinkering with either some sort of a computer.

"Hey, Sevvie," she said. Sevvie grunted an acknowledgment. "Need you to do me a favor."

At that, Sevvie exhaled heavily and rolled his shoulders back, straightening slightly before going right back to work. He had a screwdriver clamped between his teeth, and he grabbed it to tighten something on his current project. He never even turned to look at us.

"What _now_, Stick?" he sighed. From the sounds of things, Larra had already pestered him up one wall and down the other; I stifled a laugh. "I'm a very busy man, y'know."

"Just one thing," Larra replied. "It's for Chev's sake."

That was all it took. Sevvie dropped his screwdriver and wheeled around. The first thing his gaze fell on was me, and he sighed a bit before nodding.

"Sounds serious," he said, clearing a spot on his cluttered work area—mainly by scraping mounds of junk off onto the floor. "All right, shoot."

"I need you to hack the Imperial databases," Larra answered, walking over to his side as he dragged out his favorite and most trusted computers. "Find out what's happened to TH-636."

Sevvie let out a long, high-pitched whistle.

"TH—Oy, don't tell me! You two _still_ on that kick?"

He seemed as if he was about to continue and maybe say something like "He'll be back when he gets good and ready," but then he either thought better of it or remembered that I carry a knife at _all_ times and _then_ thought better of it. Larra rolled her eyes and shook her head as he pulled up screen upon screen of scrambled code that I couldn't make heads or tails of. I crept closer to where he was working, and I must've gotten a bit close because he turned and glanced almost condescendingly at me. I took a step back, remembering that he, as the resident master hacker, enjoyed not being crowded while he was cracking something. He must've typed at that console for ten, maybe fifteen minutes before I started getting impatient.

"See anything yet?" I asked, but then I heard a faint grumble. I hurried to placate his irritation. "I mean, I'm not trying to be impatient."

"I'm working on it, Rogue," he replied. "Don't get your knives in a knot, okay? Just a few more seconds . . ." He typed madly at the console before grinning. "Ha, in. That was _too_ easy. Now, to find your man . . ."

Yes, "mine" in the quite literal sense! But we won't go there. Sevvie kept typing at the console, and the room was silent except for the beeping of the computer and the thunking sounds of his fingers on the keyboard. Beside me, Larra started to impatiently tap her foot, and I shifted my weight from one leg to the other to keep from going insane from the wait. After a little while, Sevvie sat back, put his hands behind his head, and nodded at the screen. He looked _very_ proud of himself, and that brought me hope. I leaned forward.

"There he is," Sevvie said, pointing to where Chev's new profile was on half of the screen. The other half detailed his most recent assignments and whatnot. "Transferred off _Executor_, looks like, and assigned to . . ." Sevvie pressed a button, and the screen zoomed in. I felt myself begin to tremble because as long as he wasn't on _Executor_, then Vader wasn't—quite literally—breathing over his shoulder. "Assigned to ISD _Relentless_. Hey, look: made captain. Shiny record . . . Heh, sounds just like him, all right."

I smiled faintly in reminiscence, nodding in agreement. It certainly _did_ sound like Chev; no one could ever call him a slacker and get away with it. Back before Geonosis, I'd often told him that as long as he kept doing as well as he was, he'd get a field promotion to ARC captain in no time. Now he finally had that title he had always coveted, except, well . . . it was from the _wrong side_. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd felt sick to his stomach when he received that rank, or if he'd been secretly happy of it. After all, now he was doing what he'd always done best. I could just hear him barking orders to a company of Stormtroopers-in-training: "You call that marching, soldier? You straighten up or that shiny armor's gonna be the universal symbol of _sissies_!" I silently laughed to myself because I could just _see_ that wayward trooper immediately snap to proper posture. But at the same time, I felt grieved. He was training the very soldiers who tried to kill folks like Lar and the Deltas every single day, and why? Because of _me_. He landed himself in that position because he wanted _me_ to be all right. I wondered if it pained him to order those troopers around, knowing what side they were on, or if he inwardly regretted it. All I knew was that I wanted him back. I didn't want the orders-barking Imperial captain; I wanted my soft-spoken, gentle _husband_. I wanted him back unharmed, no worse for wear, and _exactly_ as I'd left him—meaning I hoped he hadn't been repeatedly brainwashed by the Empire.

I must've looked as if I'd slipped completely off to another universe, because Lar started lightly shaking my shoulder and calling my name. I blinked before looking at her.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I nodded. "Just thinking harder than usual, is all. Hey, Sevvie, was that all?"

"Uh . . ." Sevvie scrolled through the files for a moment before choosing something from the list just underneath the place where he'd found the memo about Chev's transfer off _Executor_. "_Relentless_ is on route to . . . er, looks like some sector of the Outer Rim. No names of final destinations listed . . . Huh. Looks like it's just been _sitting_ there, though. Dunno why." He shrugged a bit. "If you want more on him, I've taken a look. It's been hacked and altered a couple of times. Whoever got in was good, but not GAR comp material. But close."

"Hacked and altered . . ." I repeated the words as my fists clenched and I stared at the screen, at Chev's profile photo. The thing that jumped out at me was that he wasn't smiling. In every other photo of him, he had a smile on his face, but now . . . I mentally shot some very nasty swear words at the Empire. "_Etyc chakaare_. Just like the Imps to cover their trail!"

I grumbled under my breath about how stupid and outright disgusting the Empire was, and I cursed Vader, the Emperor, _and_ Isard all to burn in the lowest hell—preferably in individual cells stationed over individual fire pits! After a moment, I got it together and looked back at the computer before turning to Larra.

"Should we pursue that ship?" I asked, and she nodded.

"We have to. We both have to. No other way."

For a split-second, I nearly burst out with "Whaddaya mean, we _both_ have to?! I'm _pregnant_, for Force's sake; I can't be gallivantin' around the 'verse in _this_ state!" But then I had a sneaky moment of "What state?" as I decided I would go as long as I was careful. And by "careful," I meant "not get shot." Larra and I both showered Sevvie with profuse thanks as he tossed us a datapad with the coordinates we'd need on it and we hurried from his workshop back into the house to get ready to go. She was helping me snap in the backplate of my armor over in Chev's and my room when there was a shuffling sound in the doorway. We turned to find Lae standing there, fully armored with the exception of a _buy'ce_, arms crossed, and a look of sheer determination on her face.

"Uncle Sevvie's a loudmouth, Mom," she said, expression never changing. "You're not going anywhere without me."

"No," Larra replied firmly, knocking my backplate into place with one solid whack from her own armored fist. "We don't know what'll be out there."

"_So?!_" At that moment, I realized just how much of Larra's iron will her daughter had inherited. This was bound to be messy, I mused as I strapped my knee guards on. "I can fight, and I _can_ help find him!"

The next moment, none other than Trent raced up behind her, and I figured that if Sevvie wasn't the only loudmouth in the Fett family. I rolled my eyes as I saw that Trent, too, was wearing _his_ armor and had one heck of a rifle slung over his back.

"And me, too!" he exclaimed, jabbing a thumb into his chestplate. "The guy did this for me, too, y'know!"

I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I turned to Larra, trying desperately not to laugh. Nonetheless, a chuckle slipped out.

"Notice how your kids are pesky?"

Larra rolled her eyes.

"They get it from their dad." She sighed and turned back to Lae, eyes all ice. "And no, you're _not_ coming."

"Yes, I AM!"

Whoa. I had _not_ anticipated _that_. That girl was as stubborn as her mother and then some. There was a short stare-down between those two that made the room immensely tense, not to mention how it made me a bit nervous. Trent glanced back and forth between his mother and sister for a few minutes before even daring to put forth another argument on his behalf.

"Mom, I'm only fifteen, but I can still kick butt."

I nearly chuckled at his tone of self-assurance but fought it. Instead, I looked at him, tilted my head, and faintly raised an eyebrow.

"You're only fifteen?"

He just smirked at me.

"Seventeen, right here," Lae said, pointing to herself. "And just how old is Luke Skywalker? Twenty-somethin', and _he_ blew up _the_ Death Star. C'mon, Mom . . . !"

Another minute of silence. Though I didn't say anything, I was personally partial to allowing the kids to come along. It wasn't like I didn't trust Larra, since she'd covered my back many a time before and we'd been fine. I figured we might could use a little help this time. I mean, let's face it: two _Mando'ade_ who are probably _still_ desperately wanted by the Empire? No way would they let us just swoop down and rescue Chev without putting up some measure of a fight. I looked at Larra, she looked at me, and then she just sighed.

"All right—" Lae and Trent's faces lit up, but she raised a hand before they could start off on their joyful celebration. "—but you two are holding your own; got it?"

"Can do!" Trent exclaimed, beaming. "When do we leave?"

"Right now," I said, shoving _Jang'buir_'s old pistols into the twin holsters on my hips and heading for the door.

Lae dashed out after me, as did Larraand Trent, and for a moment, I wondered if we ought to notify the others before we left. But I figured they'd be all right as I headed outside and toward the _Chevron_. If anything, I wanted to bring Chev home in _our_ ship, and if the Deltas should get called out on an assignment while Lar and I were out, I'd rather have them take _their_ ship than mine. We'd just gotten out the door and were halfway to the ship when Larra suddenly stopped, turned around, and dashed up to the crest of a nearby hill. I wondered what in the galaxy she was doing, so I followed and soon found that she was surveying the panorama of the mountains and ocean to the east of the homestead—or, more specifically, a huge plot of land about a half mile from our current residence. I just looked at her for a moment and saw how totally at peace she looked. She just stood there, silently observing the view, and after a moment, she sighed contentedly.

"I think we'll have the house over there," she said, seemingly to no one but herself even though I was standing right beside her. "It's perfect."

I heard the green grass being trampled behind me, and after a minute, Lae and Trent arrived next to us. I turned to Trent, needing some answers. What was this house Larra was talking about? Why did she suddenly have that dreamy expression on her face? And, maybe the more selfish thought, did this mean that Chev and I would soon have a house all to ourselves?

"What house?" I asked.

"A really long time ago," Trent replied, "Mom had a dream that we'd all live happily ever after in a big house between the sea and the mountains with some other of her old army pals. Omega Squad, wasn't it, Mom? Yeah, I think that was it."

Omega Squad. I recognized that name. Those were the kind fellows who had been coming to save me from a terrible fate at the hands of the Empire so many years before. I didn't know where they'd gone or what had happened to them, but I knew they were alive because every once in a while, a message would come via Sevvie's little setup. I also suspected that Omega were working with the Rebellion, too, because just a week ago, we'd gotten a little comm message: "Having fun kicking Imp _shebs_. Wish y'all were here! From Fi." I still remembered how Larra laughed when she saw it while I once again felt a bit left out. But that didn't much matter now. What mattered was that she and her family had a future laid out before them. They were going to build an enormous house that would be settled cozily among the vista that was the plains of _Manda'yaim_. They would live out their days in peace with friends. I felt as if it'd be a long shot if I were ever to have such a life. Absently, I thought about my—_Chev's_ and my—baby. The beginning of a family was right inside me and I couldn't—all right, didn't _want_ to—tell anyone. So I just sighed.

"Sounds like a nice dream. I don't know if I'd _ever_ be able to truly settle down."

Larra turned and smiled at me in that big-sister way that she has. The look on her face made me think back to our first heart-to-heart so many years ago: _"You're like the big sister who keeps me in line." "And you and Boba are like the two kids that get in my hair all the time."_ I chuckled softly and smiled back at her.

"Don't worry," she said gently. "There'll always be room for you and Chev."

Then we _would_ get him back. Somehow I'd never doubted that. I just nodded a bit, trying to fight down the urge to lean in and whisper "Lar, I have something you oughtta know." Instead, I shrugged.

"I'm just not sure if I could ever adapt to a cozy home life. I mean, Chev and I have been on the move for so long . . . It's hard to picture a life doing anything else."

"Aw, c'mon," Trent sighed, almost whining. "Mom used to be an _ARC_, and she had _kids_!"

The tone he used to say that, paired with his sarcastic teenaged eye roll, sounded as if he thought that was a divine miracle. Lae smacked him upside the head, he yelped, and I laughed. Larra just shook her head at her brood, but suddenly, behind us, there came a familiar voice.

"HEY! You're not goin' _anywhere_ without _us_!"

Well, _that_ sure sounded familiar. I turned to find the Deltas coming up alongside us, Scorch in lead. They were still in civvies, so if they wanted to come, we'd either have to wait a minute for them to get changed or they'd have to haul their armor and change on the ship. Larra sighed and looked Scorch straight in the eye.

"Ryder, there's knowing what's going to happen!" she said. "You and the others are most certainly _not_ coming."

"I think Mom's got a point, Dad," Lae agreed.

What's this?! Mother and daughter actually _agreeing_ on something?! Oh, no! Whatever is this galaxy coming to?! Note sarcasm. Heavy. Sarcasm. Well, Scorch was _not_ about to be told no even if Lar already had—multiple times. He just put his hands on his hips and scoffed.

"What, and leave you all to have all the fun?" He seemed completely incredulous. I was just having trouble _not_ laughing. "You'renot the only ones with hard heads, you know."

Behind him, Sev just chuckled. I had to cradle my chin in my hand to hide my smile as I glanced at Larra. She looked as if she'd had almost enough.

"I see what you mean about the kids inheriting their dad's peskiness," I said.

At that, Larra sighed, rolled her eyes, and nodded in agreement. Scorch frowned, and Lae crossed her arms and leveled me with a glare.

"I resent that," was all she said. Larra just shook her head.

"Please," she said to Scorch, "can't you just let me and Rogue go deal with this?"

"I tried, Lar," Boss interjected when Scorch tried to answer. "I really did. I tried to convince him it'd be better if you all went off and we stayed behind in case the Rebels gave a yell."

"You do have a point," I conceded. "What if you're needed for something really important and you're off doing search-and-rescue?"

Scorch just _glared_ at me, taking me aback just a bit.

"I consider _this_ important."

Well, so did I, but I didn't want to risk the lives of _all_ my friends when I was confident that Lar, the kids, and I could take care of this little issue. Besides, if we ended up needing help, I was certain that we could always call the Delta boys in for backup. Trent tilted his head to the side before gazing concernedly at his father and uncles.

"Uh, Dad," he began slowly, "don't you think Mom's worried you might get . . . um, killed?"

And then there was silence. Larra went momentarily pale, as did Lae, but I saw Lar shiver ever so faintly as she closed her eyes for a minute. She took a deep breath, and I glanced at Trent as if to say "Well, _that_ was intelligent to mention" because I'd learned a few years back that Lar and Scorch had this really, _really_ complicated Force bond. One wrong move could leave their kids parentless. Finally, Larra opened her eyes again and just looked imploringly at Scorch.

"Please," she said, almost begging, "just stay. I couldn't stand to lose you all because I was stupid. I couldn't live with myself."

And then there was _more_ silence. I glanced down as if I'd taken a sudden interest in watching grass grow. Trent's gaze went up; apparently he'd taken a sudden interest in watching clouds creep slowly past. A few glances were exchanged among the Deltas, most of them stemming from Scorch's undying feeling as if he just _had_ to come along for the ride. But then again, maybe he was just upset that he'd get to miss out on shooting a few Imps. I broke the silence after a minute by putting one hand on my hip and the other out toward them, palm up.

"Listen, we'll be fine," I assured them. "And we'll call you if anything crops up so you can dash out and rescue the damsels in distress."

"Somehow I highly doubt you and Lar could _ever_ be 'damsels in distress,'" Sev grumbled. Boss elbowed him in the ribs, and Scorch rubbed the back of his neck.

"Weeeell . . ."

He was still unwilling to allow us to go on our way, poor fella. Trent jogged over to his father and clasped his arm.

"Please, Dad? Just let _us_ take care of this?"

"I'm sensing a conflict," Fixer, ever the quiet one, concluded, his voice low. "She won't let us come along, but she's taking Trent?"

"The kid wields a lightsaber," Boss reasoned. Fixer turned to him.

"He's _fifteen_."

Trent just glared at his uncle, who pretended not to notice. The expression on Lae's face was a combination of disbelief, hurt, and maybe a bit of shock.

"Like I can't cover my own kid brother?!"

I didn't say anything at that; I simply glanced in her direction. I remembered when I'd had that mindset, when I felt as if Boba couldn't do a thing unless I was watching his back. I remembered when I finally had to let go enough to allow him to go on his rite of passage—another name for his first bounty hunt. I waited up almost three straight days for him to come back, thanks to some careful planning and timing of drinking caf and the strategizing of catnaps. Anyway, Fixer shrugged a bit, and Larra gave a slow nod of agreement to what Lae had said.

"Trent _does_ know how to use a lightsaber extraordinarily well," she admitted.

Trent beamed at that praise, and Scorch just sighed and waved his hand, conceding defeat.

"Fine, fine. Go off and have adventures and fun."

"Aw, don't fret," I told him, offering a warm smile of support. "I'm sure it'll be perfectly boring."

Boss ambled over to me and grabbed my hand in his firm grasp, giving it a shake.

"You just take care, a' right?" he said.

"Whenever have I not?" I grinned. "Except . . . well . . . there might've been a few times . . . Whoops." Nearby, Trent chuckled, and even Sev and Fixer looked amused. I quickly grew serious as I returned the handshake. "We'll be okay. We'll get in there, grab Chev, and come back. Piece of cake."

Boss nodded and went back to his brothers. Larra just smiled lovingly at Scorch, and I felt a brief pang of sadness that dissipated when I remembered just how soon I'd have Chev back.

"We'll be gone before you can even miss us," she said cheerfully.

Scorch tried to smile, and Lae bounded down to hug him. Of course, her hugs were less like gentle embraces; they were bear hugs in every sense of the phrase. She threw her arms around Scorch and just squeezed, telling him not to worry because we'd all be back. Scorch just sighed and hugged her right back, patting her shoulder.

"Why do I always miss out on the fun . . ." Poor fella. _I_ felt like hugging him.

"Oh, cheer up," Boss said, nudging him. "We'll go blow up some targets."

Sev's suggestion involved that, but it was much, _much_ more sinister.

"Or we could blow up a tree and set the entire forest on fire!"

He chuckled darkly, and I eyed him warningly before informing him that if he did, I'd sock him one. Sure, I hadn't had much of an opportunity lately to hone my punch-throwing skills, but I figured that he'd be as good a target as any to practice on! Larra just looked straight at Scorch.

"And I'd let her, too, especially since I know where our final home is going to be."

Scorch beamed at her, face suddenly brighter as he stepped back and nodded. I took that as our cue to leave, so my little entourage and I headed for the _Chevron_, waving occasionally over our shoulders. The Deltas waved back and shortly returned to the house. Once we got to the ship, I went right to the cockpit, sinking into my seat and sighing as I got the _Chevron_ ready to roll. Plugging _Relentless_'s coordinates into the navcomp, I eased the ship up from _Manda'yaim_'s familiar plains and off toward space. When we were in hyperspace a few minutes later, Trent came up to the cockpit, Larra and Lae close behind. He plopped right into the co-pilot's seat before looking curiously at me.

"You gonna play her the message Chevron left?" he asked.

As soon as he said that, I felt my stomach turn over. I had _not_ wanted him to mention that. I sighed as Larra inched closer to me, and I felt her gaze pierce right through me.

"Message?" she asked. "What message?"

"A message he left when we got off _Executor_," Lae answered softly. Larra hesitated only a moment.

"Show me."

I nodded and solemnly reached over, flipping the switch and activating the message. It crackled to life, revealing a blue-ish holo of Chev just as it had before. Behind me, Larra's eyes were fixated on it as it began replaying.

"_Rogue, I'm so sorry I scared you . . ."_

I sat there, staring at it in complete silence and feeling my throat tighten. I leaned back in my seat, sinking into deep thought and chewing at my bottom lip. This was still so surreal. It was as if I were dreaming and that I'd awaken in a few minutes in a pitch-black bedroom, look over, and find Chev sleeping soundly there beside me. Yet I knew, deep down, that this _was_ real, and I got scared. I feared for his life as I absently laid one hand across my middle. Inwardly, I was thankful I'd let out my armor ever so slightly; I was beginning to feel a bump there. As happy as I was that I was finally going to become a mother, I didn't want to tell _anyone_—not even Larra—until Chev knew. After all, that was only fair. I snapped out of my thoughts just as the message wound down, and I cast a side glance at Lar. She shuddered slightly as the message faded; apparently, it'd struck her the same way it'd struck me. Lae reached over and tenderly embraced her mother.

"It's okay, Mom," she whispered. "We'll get him back."

Then she came up alongside me, crouched down at my side, and touched my hand. I almost jumped at the gentleness in that little touch; instead, I just turned and looked at her. Her gleaming amber eyes were filled with such . . . such empathy for what I was going through. Somehow, that girl had become especially attuned to the emotions of others.

"You okay, Aunt Rogue?" she quietly asked me.

"Yeah," I nodded, patting her hand. "I'm just . . . still a little disturbed by it, I guess. I mean, I feel a bit foolish for reacting the way I did, but I didn't know it was a ruse . . . I honestly thought it was the real thing."

"So did I," Trent agreed with a sigh as he folded his hands over his chest and wiggled down deeper into "his" seat. "Frankly, it was frightenin'. I mean, you were freaking out and begging him not to fall for the lies, and he was practically ignoring you . . ."

I shot him a warning glare that meant he would have one of my infamous "Keldabe hugs" coming his way if he didn't shut the frack up. I did _not_ need the reenactment at that moment. I was pregnant and therefore hormonal, and since crazy hormones can lead to some serious mood swings, I didn't feel the need to have a fit of hysterical crying. But all it took was that one glare from me, and Trent obediently fell silent. Lae rose from her crouched position beside me and leaned back against the wall.

"But he wasn't even falling for the lies anyway," she said thoughtfully.

My first thought was "So?!" but I kept my mouth shut. Larra chuckled faintly.

"That's Chev for you; he'll _never_ take anything at face value."

"But you combine Vader and 'good ol'' Iceheart, and I figured they were working some sort of trance on him!" I protested before sighing heavily. "Do I feel stupid . . ."

"Hey, you don't need to!" Trent exclaimed suddenly. "Even if you _had_ known he was bluffing, it added . . . realism!"

I glanced at him, and he just offered a weakly helpful grin. Shaking my head, I turned back to the controls, pretending to find more interest in watching the hours of our journey tick down than anything else. After a moment, I heard Larra sigh, and she asked Lae if she were interested in some lightsaber practice. Lae declined, instead heading off for a nap, and Trent took her place. They were just about to leave when Trent turned back around and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him and found a look of concern on his fifteen-year-old face.

"Are you gonna be okay up here all by yourself?" he asked.

"Sure, _Tren'ika_," I nodded. "I'll be fine."

"If you need to talk to anyone," Larra added, "you can always talk to Lae."

"Sure, when she's awake," Trent snickered.

He snorted with laughter before heading off to the cargo hold, and Larra squeezed my shoulder. I put my hand over hers, grateful for my sister's presence.

"She's a good kid," I said, referring to Lae. "I've noticed she really understands folks."

Having that said, I turned and looked up at Larra, grinning a bit.

"Nice work with the parenting."

She chuckled and shook her head a bit.

"I try."

She just gripped my hand and gave it an understanding squeeze before she turned and headed off after Trent. I watched her go before turning back to the controls and gazing out the front of the ship to watch hyperspace rocket past. Leaning back in my seat and heaving a sigh, I soon fell silent, though I wasn't really thinking. I just kept reminding myself of how imperative it was that we rescue Chev, but after a while, I fell into absently tracing circles on my middle and wondering how—no, when—this little miracle had happened. I couldn't figure that out, but the thing I _could_ figure out was that I needed to save Chev from those _shabla_ Imps before his child had to grow up without a daddy. I promised myself that I would get Chev back, swearing it on _haat, ijaa, haa'it_ and on my word of honor. That filled me with such a sense of determination that I crossed my arms and just stared out the window, readying myself for when we launched our grand attack on _Relentless_.


	12. Relentless

**Chapter Eleven – **_**Relentless**_

I don't know how long it was before we reached our destination. All I know is that I'd dozed off a good while before and was only jerked awake by the incessant beeping of the control panel, letting me know that auto-pilot was bringing us out of hyperspace. I silently thanked whoever had built my precious little freighter for making such a dependable auto-pilot; and then I thanked Sevvie for keeping it that way. I glanced out the window to get an idea of where we were, fully expecting to see the Star Destroyer, but on first glance, I saw nothing. I thought we'd dropped out of hyperspace either too soon or too late, because for one thing, there was no Imperial blasterfire coming our way. Feeling a knot tighten in my stomach, I leaned forward and looked around again. This time, I located not one but _two_ ships: one was the slender shape of _Relentless_, and the other was a much larger, bulkier ship that seemed to be a rust-bucket limping on its last leg. Even from the _Chevron_, I could tell that its ion engines were running without proper containment and exhaust settings. It was a miracle whoever was flying that bucket wasn't getting roasted by ion shocks. But then I had another moment of "Hey, the Imps aren't shooting at us!" A quick glance at the scanner on the control panel told me why: the ship was a ghost ship. It was pretty much just floating out there; the engines were totally dead. I ran a scan on the other ship and found it to be an obsolete make of a heavy transport vessel, not registered in any civilized manner . . . but the markings on the side indicated that it was not only a Trandoshan slaving ship, but that it was also a raiding party—a big one, at that. I immediately felt fear squeeze my stomach into an itty bitty ball. Chev was supposed to be on that ship . . . If those slavers got to him, who knew what would happen? So I jumped from my seat and raced to the cargo hold, where I found Larra and Trent taking a breather from their sparring. Both of them had stripped down to their body suits, and Larra had gone a step further, peeling the top half of hers off to reveal a simple gray tank top.

"Lar, I think we have a situation," I said quickly before wheeling around and darting back to the cockpit.

Before long, I heard heavy footsteps in the corridor as Larra dashed up beside me and leaned forward, Trent close on her heel. The "Hmm" I heard next told me that she'd seen both _Relentless_ and the Trandoshan ship the same as I had.

"Trando slavers," she murmured, nodding. "Well, haven't fought some scalies in a while . . ."

I didn't ask questions; I just took her word for that. I glanced out at _Relentless_, which looked so broken and pitiful that I actually felt sorry for it—the ship, mind you. I could never feel sorry for the Empire if it lost a few hundred men. Of course, I might feel sorry for the families those men might leave behind, but still . . .

"Looks like they knocked the Imps around pretty good," I observed. "If it weren't for the fact that Chev was transferred to that stupid Star Destroyer, I'd be grateful to those slavers and suggest we go home!"

"So what do we do?" Trent asked. I grinned a bit.

"Fight them. What else _can_ we do?"

"We should also check to see if Chev's still on board," Larra added. "Force knows what kind of a price an ARC could bring on the slave market."

"And an original one, too," I sighed, feeling fear reaching for me again. I shoved it back with a mental punch in its nose. No way was I getting scared at that point. For one thing, I didn't need the stress, and for another, Chev probably wouldn't like to know that I freaked out over a few giant lizards. But I wasn't freaking out over the lizards; I was afraid for _his_ life.

"So do we raid the Imp ship or the Trandoshan ship?" Trent asked, his gaze jumping back and forth between our two options.

"Hard to choose, really," I sighed. "If there are two ships, they're probably raiding the Imperials and making a big body count. Uh, hate to sound dependent, but . . . Lar, you've fought them. What do you think?"

Larra frowned a bit and stood in silence for a moment, arms crossed. She glanced to the Trando vessel and then to _Relentless_, brows furrowed in thought.

"Either they'll transfer a skeleton crew to _Relentless_ and have Chev tucked away in the detention block, or they'll have already transferred him over. But that's _only_ if he's been caught. If he hasn't, it'd be better to check out _Relentless_ first."

"Then we do that," I nodded as the _Chevron_ drifted slowly nearer to the two ships. I started scanning my control panel, looking for one special button. "Let me see . . . There's a cloaking device around here somewhere . . ." I scraped a few old blaster parts off the panel and found my missing button. So, naturally, I flipped it. There was a buzz from the console, and then a little message popped up in red lettering: "Cloaking Device Active." "Aha. There we go."

I flipped auto-pilot off and carefully maneuvered the _Chevron_ toward _Relentless_'s docking bays. There were still no "You are under arrest; surrender now and we will show you mercy" hails on the comm, so either my cloaking device was doing one helluva job or nobody was doing visual duty—or both. That made me wonder just how long the Trandos had been raiding _Relentless_—and if Chev were even still alive. Just the thought that he might _not_ be nearly took me over the edge, but I somehow managed to keep myself under control. When we docked, I leaned back, sighed, and looked at Larra and Trent. Just from glancing at them, I could tell that they didn't have a very good feeling about the quiet emptiness of _Relentless_.

"Okay, we're in," I said, my voice a near whisper out of sheer reflex. Then I realized that Lae was missing from our little group. "Is Lae awake?"

"Probably _not_," Trent scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I find that waking her up is hard unless she wants to be awake," Larra sighed, "But someone could try. Certainly not me, though. I tried once; nearly got my arms torn off."

"We could prod her from a distance with a long stick!" Trent exclaimed whole-heartedly, lifting his index finger into the air as if he'd just come up with the plan to end all plans. I just sighed.

"I'll try waking her."

Lar just shook her head at me as if that really wasn't a good idea, but I pretty much ignored her as I walked down the hall to the dorms. There lay Lae (ha, that sounded funny), one arm and one leg hanging off the edge of the bunk, her blanket nearly falling off, and her pillow bunched up under her head. And not only was she a crumpled mess, but she was hard asleep—and I mean _hard_. She must've been sleeping the whole trip, and not even the ship's halting had awakened her. I just sighed; teenagers could be impossible sometimes. I knew this because I'd been one of them once upon a time. I could recall that when I was, oh, fourteen-ish, _Jang'buir_ could almost never awaken me in the morning. It was one of those "Five more minutes, Mommy" things. The trouble with that was that _Jang'buir_ always just pulled my blankets off, leaving me to shiver with cold until I finally got up. _Sigh._ I tapped Lae on the shoulder.

"Lae?" I called gently. "Lae, wake up, please. We need an extra lightsaber."

Well, that went over like a ten-ton load of durasteel. Lae just groaned and flopped in the opposite direction so that she was facing the wall. I sighed and just rolled my eyes before continuing my prodding, increasing the pressure, speed, and hardness with which I did so.

"Lae, c'mon," I pressed, hearing a faint chuckle from Larra. "Haul your _shebs_ out of bed and come _on_. We have a rescue to do here!"

"Watch yourself," Trent warned, cautiously eyeing the slumbering heap that was his sister. "You don't wanna make her mad."

Lae moaned again before pulling her pillow over her head.

"Don' wanna . . ." she mumbled groggily.

"I _don't care_," I informed her firmly, hands on my hips. "_You_ are waking up _now_ or I'm pulling you out of bed!"

I started poking her again, grumbling under my breath. This was like trying to awaken a freakin' rock! Not to mention that I felt a little guilty; if this was how _my_ kid was gonna have to wake up in the mornings, then that poor child needed a different mother. But then again, being forty-somethin', I guess you could say I was set in my ways. And then there was that little tidbit that Lae needed to get up immediately so we could go about rescuing her uncle. So I just kept prodding her in the arm, and about three seconds later, one of Lae's hands suddenly shot out, grabbing my wrist and twisting as she slowly and _very_ reluctantly pushed herself up.

"Force, what does it take . . ." She mumbled a few Mando swear words under her breath as she cracked an eye open at me, and as soon as she saw me standing silently there, a frown on my face and my wrist in her hand, she quickly let go. "Oh, sorry, Aunt Rogue . . ."

I just lifted an eyebrow and drew my arm back, flexing my wrist before letting it fall to my side.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "You just sleep like an absolute _rock_."

"Yeeeeah . . ." Trent sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Whatever the Imps did to her made her sleep more than usual and eat more than most folks."

"And thirstier," Lae herself added, and I fought down an eye roll. As if teenagers didn't eat and sleep more than average folk, now it was like there were two, maybe three teenagers all locked up inside Lae's one body. Greeeeeeeat. I sighed, and Lae ran a hand through her hair, making it stick almost straight up. "So, what's this about a rescue? We're there?"

"Yep," I nodded, fighting the urge to throw a "You're holding up this train, Lae Fett!" tantrum right in front of everyone. "We're docked on _Relentless_. It's been taken over by Trandoshan slavers and is an absolute wreck because those lizards never learned how to keep house. And if we don't move our _shebse_ and get hunting, they'll come for _us_ next."

I decidedly nodded once and only once as I turned away, doing a self-check. _Jang'buir_'s old Westar-34s on my hips . . . knives in gauntlet and boot . . . secret child hiding under the _very_ faint rise in my midsection . . . Yep. All was in place. Now I could only hope that Chev was in place, too, and that we could find him in time. Lae gave a hearty affirmation and declared that since she was reenergized, we could get a move on. She lifted one hand, and the next thing I knew, her lightsaber came sailing through the air from the opposite side of the room. I stared; Lae just beamed.

"Somehow I keep forgetting that we have multiple Force users on board," I sighed, and Trent chuckled. "Now, are we all ready?"

Lae nodded emphatically, and Larra and Trent scampered off to the cargo hold to throw their armor back on as Lae tugged hers on in place of the civvies she'd been sleeping in. They all were ready in only a minute, maybe a hair or two more. The silver and red streaks on Trent's armor stood out in stark contrast to the navy blue ones on Larra's, and I noted that Lae's looked strangely like Scorch's except that wherever he'd had yellow, she had blue. I also noticed that now they were all solemn, as if in the few moments it'd taken to put on their armor, they'd gotten a sense of the danger Chev was more than likely in. As quickly as we could, we headed down the _Chevron_'s loading ramp and out into the abandoned, debilitated hangar bay. When we were out, I shuddered and drew one of my blasters, glancing around as if a Trando slaver was going to come bounding out at any moment. My logic told me that this was a suicide mission; my heart told my logic to shut the hell up. Yet I felt as though someone was watching us, and I figured that Lae felt the same way from the way her eyes darted around the hangar. I took a step away from the ship, watching, listening, waiting for the ambush.

"I don't like this," I said flatly. Behind me, Trent pulled his lightsaber from his belt.

"You and me both," he sighed. "All right; where to?"

I looked around a little bit, searching out some form of entrance to the rest of _Relentless_. The door from the hangar bay was sealed; apparently the Imps had seen their attackers coming and had tried to stave them off. A few Stormtrooper corpses across the way told me the same thing. I shuddered, praying that Chev wasn't one of them, as I kept looking for a way through. Then my gaze fell on a still smoking hole through the hangar wall; it was wide enough for at least two Trandos to get through side-by-side but not very tall, so we'd have to duck underneath it. I pointed at it.

"There. I'd bet money that the Trandos did that. Nobody said they were neat about their entrances."

"No kidding," Larra murmured, tugging her own lightsaber free of her belt. "All right, we start looking around. If you find any Trandos, dice 'em up before they dice _you_. Find Chev, then we go home."

_Home._ That sounded so very tantalizing. I swallowed hard as I nodded.

"It sounds so simple that I'd almost bet it's not going to be," I said simply.

Then I rolled my shoulders back and strode toward the hole in the wall. Silently, I asked the Force to keep my Chev safe and to not let me lose my baby to something I could prevent—like a blaster wound. But then I heard a noise behind me, and adrenaline tingled my muscles as I wheeled around and glanced up. There, perched high above the

_Chevron_ on a half-collapsed catwalk, was a Trando clutching a sniper rifle that was so big, Sev would've been jealous. And guess what? He had that puppy aimed at the back of my head—or my forehead, now that I was turned. So I wasted no time, lifted my blaster, and put a blaster bolt squarely through his scaly green skull. With a strangled squeal, he tumbled off the catwalk, bounced off the _Chevron_'s hull, and landed in a heap on the floor. I nodded with satisfaction.

"What I wouldn't give for a good repeater," I muttered. "All right, they know we're here. Let's go."

I took off at an easy jog for that hole in the wall, and once there, I leaped through, no problem. Once on the other side, I took a step back as I realized that _Relentless_ looked nothing like a military ship now. There were blaster marks and carbon scoring on all the walls, huge radial burn marks from grenades and other explosive ordnance. Dead Stormtroopers lay everywhere in crumpled white heaps, and as Lae and the kids clambered through the hole behind me, I scampered around, making sure that Chev wasn't one of the dead. When I was satisfied, I turned and laid a hand on one of the half-melted walls.

"Lar, would you look at this?" I sighed, patting the wall. "Didn't these guys' mothers ever teach them to keep a neat ship? I swear, even the Imps do a better job of housekeeping."

"No kidding!" Lae scoffed, then turned to her mother. "'Sabers lit?"

Larra nodded, her brown eyes glinting almost conspiratorially.

"'Sabers lit."

The next second, Larra's navy 'saber and Lae's crystal-blue one sprung to life with simultaneous hiss-snaps. I took a moment to just _stare_ as Lae brandished her weapon, grinning at me. Trent then ignited his own 'saber, revealing a blade of cool silver. Quite the impressive weaponry those three had if I did say so myself. When they nodded, signifying that they were ready to go, I lead the way as we went barreling down the hall. We were halfway down when I skidded to a halt at the sound of fat, slimy feet scuffling down the hall. Larra grabbed me by the arm and dragged me and the kids into a corner, and then the two of us peered out to see where those Trandos could be. Lae's first curled around her 'saber hilt as Larra dug out one of her grenades, and the next second, two Trandos shuffled past and into the next corridor, dragging between them a white-armored figure with red stripes trailing down said armor. I felt my throat tighten, but I could do nothing but stand there until the slavers were gone. When they were, Larra turned to me.

"You think that was him?" she asked, voice hushed.

The funny thing was that she hadn't even had to ask. I _knew_ that poor trooper was Chev. I'd spent enough time with the Empire to be able to recognize a captain's marking, and then there was the fact that I'd seen a series of chevrons running down the front of the trooper's chestplate. My stomach tightened as I swallowed hard, and I nodded.

"I do, Lar," I said quietly. "I really do. Oh, Force. They've got him."

At this little emotional realization of mine, Trent rushed forward, leaping out into the hallway.

"I say we go get 'em!" he exclaimed, and I dragged him back, shushing him.

"Not so fast," I hissed. "If we rush those lizards, it'll start a firefight. He might get hit, and I personally would like to avoid either hurting or killing him, even if it _is_ accidental. Now, what we can do is circle around. If we take the long route, we can still end up ahead of them and head them off. Then we can seal them in a corridor and use this ship's security systems against them."

"Ohh, you mean _gas 'em_!" A mischievous grin crossed Trent's face as he savored that thought. I just sighed; this boy was _so_ his father's son. But as soon as the grin appeared, it faded, and Trent looked thoughtful. "But . . . what about _him_?"

I took a deep breath, not even wanting to think about that. Thankfully, I had a word of fact that I could share.

"His helmet has an auto-seal against poison gas," I explained. "Isn't that so, Lar? ARCs _always_ got the best equipment as a rule."

"Yep," Larra nodded, glancing around to make sure there were no more Trandos coming our way before stepping out of the corner. "If that helmet's sealed properly, it should filter out any gases."

"Then let's do it!" Lae cheered, and I felt a surge of elation.

We raced off down the hall, headed for—I hoped—a computer console where I could execute our little plan. But we must've made a little too much noise—either that or the slavers were just everywhere at once—because there was a sudden rumbling behind us. I turned and lifted my blasters as a half-dozen or more Trandoshans came hurtling out of what had once been a barracks.

"Trandos, six o'clock, folks!" I yelled.

"On it!" Trent called back, racing toward them.

I almost expected either Larra or Lae to stop him as he went barreling toward the slavers, swinging his silver lightsaber left and right, but they didn't do a thing. He went carving through the Trandos with skill I hadn't thought likely, and the next thing I knew, Lae dashed at the lizards, blocking blaster bolts with her 'saber blade. I didn't even stop to help the kids once I saw they could handle themselves _very_ well, so I just raced off down the hall again, Larra at my heel. I was grateful for the back-up because Force knew what we could run into. But even though Chev was in grave danger and I was running flat-out to save him from that, I couldn't help but grin when I thought about my child and imagined that little unborn Fett complaining to me: "Mommy, can't you sit down and not do anything for _once_?" Sorry, kid, but nope. I was born to be on the move. Just thing, though: if I keep this up this record of mine, then by the time you're ten, you'll have already run for your life a few times.

Lar and I turned a corner, where we met up with a handful of Trando slavers guarding—hello!—a computer terminal. One of them was trying unsuccessfully to hack it and get the security turrets on our side, but I just allowed myself a cocky smirk; no half-witted lizard was _that_ good. So I charged them, holstering my pistol and instead flicking my wrist to drop my trusty knife into my hand. It felt so _good_ to be using that again; it was like saying hello to an old friend. I sliced my way through the Trandos until my ears were ringing with their lizard-ish screams of pain. Larra was behind me the whole way, dicing through any of those scaly fiends that had managed to escape me and deflecting blaster bolts at the ones who took the dead ones' places. I stabbed the Trando at the panel, shoving him aside as I took command of the console. Larra was still covering me, making sure I was relatively safe while I worked. There was a momentary pause in the combat, so I entered a command and shut the doors all around us, sealing us inside the computer room until I was ready to leave. Larra came to my side as I started typing madly until I pulled up the camera system. Cycling through them, I eventually found the hallway those two Trandos had slipped into and zoomed in before pulling up the security controls. The slavers were still waddling along, dragging the trooper I'd so convinced myself was Chev along behind them.

"Oh, helmet seal, _please_ work," I whispered, punching in the command.

The next second, yellow-green poison gas filtered out of the vents in the corridor, and not a minute later, the Trandos started staggering all over the place, clawing at their throats and gasping for air. They eventually toppled over, choking and squirming, before they went still. I exhaled heavily with relief and heard Larra do the same. We didn't run off immediately to save the former prisoner, however; I cycled through the other cams to see if I could find any other slavers just waited to be gassed. Nothing. When I got back to the original cam feed, I nearly fell over from shock as my eyes went wide.

"He's gone!" I cried, and Larra instantly leaned over me, staring in disbelief at the screen. "I—I don't understand . . . I had that hallway sealed! The blast doors are still locked tight!"

Larra swore under her breath as she pounded a fist on the console, and I know a look of despair crossed my face. I just kept staring helplessly at the terminal screen. The next moment, one of the doors hissed open, the seal broken, to reveal Lae and Trent. They jogged in, winded only slightly.

"Well, got them taken care of," Lae nodded triumphantly. "What about our friend?"

I motioned them over and pointed down at the screen, still trying to comprehend it.

"I got the hallway sealed and gassed the Trandos—see, there they are, dead—but . . . he's gone! He was there when I gassed the corridor, but now . . . now he's _not_! And I know no one got him through the blast doors; they're still sealed and the security lockdown I put on them hasn't been breached. I just can't figure this one out!"

Larra grabbed my shoulder and gave it a good shake as Trent squeezed up beside me, brows furrowed in thought. He studied the screen for a moment before looking at me.

"Why not pull up this ship's schematics?" he suggested. "You might find something."

I had this moment of "Why didn't _I_ think of that?!" as I shrugged and went back to typing at the control keys. The next moment, _Relentless_'s blueprints popped up on the screen, and I started scrolling through them, chewing at my bottom lip.

"Well, here's the layout," I said, and Larra, Lae, and Trent all leaned over me. "I don't see anything—wait. Oh, here we go. Frack, why didn't I think of this?! The ventilation shafts! No doubt a couple more Trandos got in just that fast, snatched him, and scurried back the other way!"

"Great," Larra muttered, turning away and crossing her arms as she began to walk the length of the computer room. "Where would they be taking him?!"

"The only real option is that they're trying to take him to their ship and get out of here," Lae mused. "We'll have to move quick."

"Right," Larra nodded, then looked over at me. Her expression melted slightly into compassion when she saw my face; I must've looked pretty pathetic and rather helpless at that moment. "Rogue, you think you can isolate a life signs scan on the vents?"

"I should be able to," I answered, turning my attention away from the nagging thoughts that I might be too late. I settled back in at the computer, typing at it for a few more moments.

_Access: Limited. Consult system administrator._

_Authorize code: none_

_ACCESS DENIED. LACK OF PROPER AUTHORIZATION CODE._

_Access: Limited. Consult system administrator._

_Authorize code: none_

_ACCESS DENIED. LACK OF PROPER AUTHORIZATION CODE._

_Access: Limited. Consult system administrator._

_Authorize code: none_

_ACCESS DENIED. LACK OF PROPER AUTHORIZATION CODE._

_SYSTEM LOCKED. PLEASE CONSULT SYSTEM ADMIN._

_Command: System settings._

_SYSTEM LOCKED._

_Command: OVERRIDE_

_SYSTEM OVERRIDDEN._

_Command: System functions._

_Command: Life signs scan._

_LIFE SIGNS SCAN ACTIVATED._

_Command: Enter._

_Command: System functions._

_Sub-category: System commands._

_Command: Isolate life signs scan._

_Scan location: Ventilation shafts._

_Access code: 2100-RFQ_

_ISOLATED SCAN ACTIVE_

The next moment, a grainy heat-sync image popped up on the screen, and I silently thanked Sevvie for having the patience to teach me his more advanced hacking skills. I sighed, leaning back and motioning to the screen. On it were two short, fat blobs of red: slavers. In between them was a horizontal blob of red: Chev. Red meant life. _He was still alive._ I heaved a sigh of relief.

"There you have it."

Trent whistled, obviously impressed, as he, his mother, and his sister all leaned over my handiwork, observing the red blobs waddling through the vents.

"You are a _wizard_ with computers!" he exclaimed, and I just blushed. After all, I couldn't take _all_ the credit; I'd had a heck of a teacher.

"Thanks," I said, then turned to Lae. "You were right. They're headed for their ship. And _mine_, too, looks like . . . Ohh, you think you can make a getaway in _my_ ship, do you, scalies?!"

Larra chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder.

"We won't let 'em," she said. "Now c'mon; we have to head them off before they run."

"We could always split up . . ." Lae began. Larra shot that down instantly.

"So do we dash back to the hangars and head 'em off or chase 'em through the vents?" Trent asked, and I nearly sighed.

"They've already got a head start," I said. "If we chase them, they'd probably make off with _my_ ship and be long gone before we'd get there. Then we'd be stuck on a broken-down Imp Star Destroyer . . . But standing around and talking won't help! Let's go! They'll have to return to the hangars anyway; it's the only way to their ship."

I backed out of _Relentless_'s network and dashed off in the direction of the hangar, the whole time allowing my thoughts to be consumed with thoughts of seeing Chev again. I just hoped he was all right, that the Empire hadn't actually brainwashed him . . . I hoped his little act had convinced them all enough. I sighed, then glanced over my shoulder; Larra, Lae, and Trent were all behind me, keeping up extremely well. As we weaved back through the corridors, I noticed with suspicion that there were absolutely no slavers to be had. No ambushes, no nothin'. Very strange. But we kept going and eventually arrived at the hangar bay, jumping through that hole in the wall. When we got to the _Chevron_ without so much as a glimpse of a Trandoshan, I started looking around, trying to find what was going on. Nothing there. It was all dead silence. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why do I sense an ambush?" I sighed.

"Maybe because there is one," Larra answered.

Well, that put us all on alert. Lar pulled a second lightsaber off her belt, holding them poised to activate as soon as she saw the first sign of a Trando. I rolled my shoulders back, trying to get over the anxiety I was feeling, as I dug out my datapad and consulted it.

"Okay," I said, "if they follow the path I projected for them, then they should be dropping out of the ventilation shafts at any moment."

"Or maybe they've already come and gone," Trent suggested in a whisper.

He looked askance at me as I nearly turned on him and told him to _never_ suggest such a thing, but I refrained. Instead, I flipped the datapad off and tucked it away before glancing up in time to see Lae squeeze an eye shut. She looked up at the ceiling, pointing her index finger along it. Larra watched her intently, lightsabers ignited, and when Lae's finger went vertical, Lar tossed her 'sabers up toward the ceiling, leaving enough of a space for an ARC in between. Two lizard shrieks. That was it. The panel caved in, and the Trandos dropped to the floor, their scaly hands clutching the red-striped trooper between them even to the end. I _knew_ that was Chev; there was no one else that it could be. I made a dash for him, but suddenly, there were several successive and very loud thumps. We all wheeled around and found a dozen or more Trandoshans loping toward us, blasters and wicked-looking curved knives drawn. Trent yelled my name, and I whirled around to find one of the knife-wielding Trandos about to drive his weapon through my shoulder blade. Well, I took care of him; he died a miserable death from being impaled by my knife. He just keeled over with a squeal of pain as I dropped to a crouch, standing guard over Chev while dealing blows to any of those fat lizards who dared come near. Across the way, Larra, Lae, and Trent were dealing great damage to the Trandos, but Larra suddenly ran over to me and scooped Chev up, shouldering him and yelling to me that we couldn't fend the slavers off forever. I swiftly decapitated one with my knife before nodding once and leaping away. I almost had to drag Trent away from the scene because he was getting such a kick out of slicing and dicing. We all raced to the ship, and once we were safely in, I dashed to the cockpit to get us moving. Lae took the co-pilot's seat, working frantically; I didn't even get a chance to check if we'd _really_ rescued Chev, but Trent dashed up to the cockpit to inform me that "he's okay," so I figured we'd gotten the right one. I just exhaled heavily before turning my full attention to getting our _shebse_ as far away from those Trandos as possible. Dodging and weaving between _Relentless_ and the slave ship, while exhilarating, was also very dangerous. The Trandos took over _Relentless_'s gun turrets and were firing madly at us; I turned to Lae, who seemed to be mapping out a hyperspace route for our trip back home.

"Lae, tell me we can make the jump really, _really_ soon!" I cried, and she looked at me.

"We can leap now," she said, "but it'll only be a short one; I think they're trying to disrupt the signal for the navcomp! Get out of range, and we can get out of here."

I nodded and drew my lips into a thin line as I pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go, racing to the black expanse of space. I was grateful that Trandoshans couldn't fit in TIE fighters; otherwise, we'd have a whole squadron coming after us. Dodging a line of fire from _Relentless_, I swerved the _Chevron_ to the side before swearing under my breath.

"And _now_ would be a very, _very_ good time to upgrade this bucket with some turbolasers . . ." I muttered. "Could've taken out some of that Trando ship . . ."

"Why?" Trent, who was still standing beside me, asked. "Would it have helped?"

"Uh, _duh_?" was all I said before I rolled my eyes and turned back to Lae. "Lae, how long till we can make the jump?"

She glanced at the navcomp and started counting down.

"Twenty kilometers . . . ten . . . five . . . Coordinates locked; go, go, _GO!_"

That was all I needed to hear as I grabbed the hyperdrive lever and yanked back on it. Never had I been so glad to see the stars streak past as we vanished into hyperspace, leaving the Trandoshan slavers and _Relentless_ in our space dust. As soon as we were away and free, Lae let out a cheer, and I just sagged back in my chair, sighing heavily.

"Close call," Trent observed. I chuckled dryly.

"Kid, close calls have practically been my _life_," I told him, crossing my arms.

Already I felt safer than I had, and I just nodded a "Well done" at Lae. She beamed at me before telling me to go see to Chev and that she could handle the ship. I didn't doubt that one bit. She'd gotten us to _Manda'yaim_ safe and sound after that little fiasco on Vader's flagship, so I just smiled my thanks before heading off. Trent dashed out of the cockpit ahead of me, leading the way. I found that Larra had laid Chev out on his and my bunk near the back of the ship. He was still out cold as far as I could tell, and I very nearly ran to him and threw myself onto him because I could see, even more clearly, that he _was_ my Chevron. Instead, I just entered slowly and sank down beside him.

"How is he?" I asked Larra.

"Stable," she answered. "Don't know when he'll wake up, though; those Trandos gave him a good thrashing. Chev must have put up a hell of a fight."

I nodded at that as I looked Chev over. There was a bruise forming around his left eye; it wouldn't be so black and blue that it'd be obvious, but it _would_ be sore for a while. In general, he looked as if he'd simply been beaten senseless, and I felt my heart twist as I reached over and took his limp hand in mine, squeezing it gently.

"He's not the sort to go down easily," I said softly, tugging my gauntlets off before reaching over and cupping his jaw in my hand; there was a bruise there, too. I sighed before looking up at Larra and Trent. "We'll be home in a few hours."

Larra nodded and Trent shifted his weight a bit, crossing his arms as he tilted his head and looked at me curiously.

"You look like you're about to cry," he said.

I realized then that my eyes _were_ tingling a bit, but I blinked rapidly, looking away and just gazing at Chev, willing him to be all right.

"I won't, though," I said, "because there's no real need to. He'll be all right."

I gave Chev's hand another squeeze before I leaned over and lightly kissed his cheek. He didn't respond to that, and I _almost_ worried. But I knew that if anything went wrong, Larra would be on it in an instant—or she'd sense it coming and be able to prevent it. So I just got up and grabbed a change of clothes, heading off to the 'fresher to get cleaned up so Chev would have something nice to see when he woke up. It was nothing fancy: just the tunic and trousers that I wore pretty much every day. But I made sure to comb my hair and wash my face, and as I did that, I told myself that as soon as Chev was conscious, responsive, and at one-hundred-percent, I'd tell him about my surprise. I could see it all now: I'd tell him, then he'd get excited and smile bigger than every before, and then he'd tell everyone else—probably from the top of a mountain. I grinned to myself as I put a barrette in my hair and smoothed out my tunic. It still hid everything, so I was sittin' pretty.

As I returned to the dorm, Trent met me at the door, and he informed me that since Chev had been moving slightly, Larra thought he would wake up soon. Suddenly, I became very eager to see my husband again—more so than I had been—so I raced past Trent and into the dorm, sitting down at Chev's side and clasping his hand between both of mine. Larra put a hand to his forehead when he groaned faintly, and the next second, his eyes fluttered open. I smiled at him and squeezed his hand tighter, and his eyes glowed with recognition.

"Just take it easy," I soothed. "You've had one heck of an afternoon."

"I'll say!" Trent exclaimed, coming up behind me. "Getting knocked around by Trando slavers? Whew!"

I turned and shot a warning glance over my shoulder at him, and he promptly shut up. Then I turned back to Chev, finding it suspicious that he didn't reply—not even with so much as a wry chuckle. I just figured he was tired, was all. But then his mouth opened and closed several times, as if he were trying to speak, but no sound came out. My fear level hit the ceiling as Larra concernedly reached over and tugged down his collar, noting a long, thin scar running diagonally across his throat—a scar that looked still fresh . . . and deep. My stomach twisted as Chev's gaze flew anxiously to my face, and Larra just put a hand over his throat before sighing heavily.

"Chev," she asked gently. "Can you talk?"

I held my breath as Chev tried to force out words, but there was nothing. His shoulders slumped as he mournfully shook his head, pressing one hand lightly to his throat. My stomach flipped and then hit rock bottom as my mouth dropped open and one hand flew instinctually to cover it. Tears stung my eyes even though I tried to blink them back. It just . . . this couldn't be happening! Chev . . . he . . . he _wasn't_ . . . I swallowed hard, trying to grapple with this, but I just couldn't. Chev looked at me and shook his head again in a motion of "I can't," and my heart sank as I had a moment of horrible realization.

He had lost his _jorad_—his voice. Chev was mute.


	13. The First Cut Is the Deepest

**Chapter Twelve – The First Cut Is the Deepest**

Let me tell you that I thought things would actually work out for the first time in a while. I sure fell for that one, eh? My hypothetical diary is basically like "Today was yet another _osik_-storm" day after day. Sure, there've been plenty of good things, but the rotten happenings sure outnumber them! And now Chev had no voice? I felt my world as I knew it come crashing down around me as I stared at him, trying to fight tears but failing. Larra was gazing at me with compassionate sympathy, and Trent with a combination of pity and genuine sadness, but I couldn't turn my gaze to anything but Chev. I just sat there, staring at him in disbelief and shock for the longest time, trying to come up with something to say but failing miserably. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe I was hoping that I'd be able to overcome my sudden heartbreak and say "Hey, Chev, that's all right! Voices are overrated, anyway." Well, the thing about that is that they _aren't_. To lose your voice is to lose your primary means of communication. The human voice is one of the natural wonders most taken for granted. I realized with horror that I'd never again hear him whisper sweet nothings to me when we were alone and that our child would never get to hear his (or her, even) daddy say "I love you" at bedtime. Just like that, everything that I'd known as routine and come to expect was gone. I blinked fast, trying to keep the tears back, but they spilled out anyway. I tried to force out _something_, but now I couldn't speak, either. All I could do was bite my lip. Chev gazed woefully at me, deep brown eyes locking onto mine as he slowly sat up. He reached for my hands, grabbing them and just squeezing. Then he mouthed four words: "I still love you." That did it. I burst into tears and threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his neck as I clung tightly to him.

"I know, baby," I sputtered. "I still love you, too . . . Nothin's gonna change that. And we'll . . . we'll find a way through this . . ."

Well, wouldja look at me go? Trying to offer some measure of optimism even in the midst of crushing tragedy. But the whole time, my throat was tight, and almost all I could do was cry into his shoulder as he held me close, tucking his chin into my shoulder. I felt him shudder, as if he were trying desperately not to cry, too. I just couldn't believe the unfairness of this. First Vader, now Trandoshans. As I've said, hardly anything works out for us.

"Mom, isn't there _anything_ we can do?" Trent exclaimed suddenly, a note of authentic concern in his voice. "We're Jedi—sort of—so we oughtta be able to do _something_!"

_Oh, I wish, _ad'ika I thought, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my forehead against Chev's chest.

Even their status as semi-Jedi couldn't repair this, I feared. Larra just sighed and took Chev's shoulder, and he and I both looked up at her.

"When did it happen, _vod'ika_?" she asked, her hand never leaving his shoulder.

Chev's brows furrowed in thought for a minute before he started reaching for the datapad mounted on his gauntlet. I scooted to the side so he could type at it, and he bit his lip as he tapped quickly at it. Then he held up his answer.

FIVE DAYS AGO. I TRIED TO PATCH IT UP WITH A BACTA NECK CUFF, BUT IT DIDN'T WORK OUT TOO WELL.

I took a deep breath and grabbed his hand, and he turned to look at me. Now I saw agony in his eyes—_ner cyar'ika_ was in pain, and for the first time, I couldn't help him. I knew immediately that this loss was hitting him extremely hard, and I silently begged every power in the universe to send a miracle.

"Chev . . ." I began slowly, eyes never leaving his, "Chev, how'd it happen? _What_ happened? Did those slavers do this to you?"

I gave his hand another hard squeeze as Trent curiously looked on. The boy's brows were furrowed as if he were trying to concoct a plan to exploit Larra, Lae, and his own Jedi powers for Chev's benefit. Chev just nodded slowly before looking at the wrist 'pad, erasing the previous message and typing another.

I WAS FIGHTING THEM. THEY WANTED TO TAKE ME AND SELL ME INTO SLAVERY. YOU KNOW HOW THAT GETS ME, SO THEY TRIED TO CUT MY THROAT. THEY MISSED MY JUGULAR BUT GOT MY VOCAL CORDS—SLICED 'EM LIKE PAPER. I MANAGED TO FEND 'EM OFF SO I COULD TRY TO FIX IT. THE CUT SEALED, BUT I DON'T THINK MY VOICE DID.

_This is all _your _fault, Vader,_ I thought bitterly. _If you hadn't been so selfish and an out-and-out _shabuir_, this never would have happened! My Chev can't talk because of _you

Tears again welled in my eyes though I did a better job of blinking them back this time. I just slid nearer to Chev and gazed up into his eyes, reaching up and brushing my fingers through his hair.

"Oh, _cyar'ika_," I sighed. "I'm so sorry . . . I should've come for you sooner . . ."

I exhaled shakily and embraced him, closing my eyes. He wrapped his arms around me, eyes squeezed shut, and before long, I felt his shoulders begin to shiver faintly. He was on the verge of tears himself; after all, a voice was what made a commander. Where once there was his ability to call out drills and bark orders, now there was stark silence. Larra reached out and put a hand to his shoulder, and I glanced up to see her with her eyes closed, almost if she were sensing the state of his injury. After a moment, her hand fell limp, and she sighed.

"Chev . . ." she said slowly, delivering the horrible diagnosis, "your vocals have been rather cleanly cut. I don't know if they could be healed."

The part of me that still believed in miracles wanted to turn on her and scream "Why did you have to _say_ that?!" But I couldn't do a thing because as soon as the hammer was dropped, Chev shuddered again and held me tighter, nestling my shoulder right under his chin as if just my touch would help. Then I felt warm wetness on my back: tears. He could do nothing but squeeze me close and sob silently. I could do nothing but reach up and cradle the back of his head in my palm. I wanted to be able to come up with some sort of encouraging word for him, but I knew nothing would help. I shivered slightly at the teardrops splattering down on me, but I tried to offer some hope—even if I had none myself.

"Shh," I soothed, stroking his hair. "It'll be all right. You'll speak again. Just . . . don't worry."

I finished this by holding him tighter than before, almost rocking him. I could just feel the anguish rolling off him in waves, and even my embrace wasn't soothing it. I felt totally . . . well, _helpless_. Larra murmured her own hope, and Chev just nodded before gently pushing me away, standing, and shuffling from the dorm, looking incredibly forlorn. Not once in our seventeen years together had I _ever_ seen him look that miserable. Larra looked down, sighing, as I watched him go.

"This is hitting him hard," she said.

"I know," I sighed, wringing my hands. Silently, I decided that now would _not_ be a good time to tell him about our child. "I probably should go to him."

"Maybe he'd just like to be alone," Trent suggested softly. "I know I would if I were in that situation."

I looked away for a moment, out the window and at the colorful swirls of hyperspace as they rocketed past. I secretly wanted him to need me at his side, but who was to know if this sudden tragedy wouldn't turn him into a different man? Perhaps losing his voice would make him become an introvert, stoic and unwilling to show emotion. I sighed before looking at Larra and Trent.

"There's only one way to find out," I said. "Lar, Trent, go see if Lae needs any help, will you? And . . . you might as well tell her."

Larra nodded solemnly before taking Trent by the shoulder and quietly heading up to the cockpit. I remained in the dorm for another minute, just staring at the picture of Chev and me lying nearby. So much was changing and it was happening too suddenly. First it was my pregnancy, then it was his muteness . . . I took a deep breath, willing myself to be calm and strong for him. Then I headed for the cargo hold, creeping in as quietly as I could. I found Chev sitting in a corner by the one view port, gazing out at hyperspace. He looked almost on the verge of tears as his gaze stayed locked onto the window, his knees drawn up into his chest. My heart squeezed at the sight of his misery, so I stepped into the hold, knocking softly on the wall. He turned at the sound and just looked at me, eyes so full of pain.

"Chev, I'm not gonna ask if you're all right," I began, moving nearer. "Just . . . Need me?"

He mournfully gazed up at me before his chest heaved in a totally silent sigh and he tapped at his wrist 'pad for a minute. Then he held it up for me to read.

I'M SORRY I DIDN'T LEAVE SOONER. I MISSED YOU.

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat, as I knelt at his side, pressing my outstretched palm to his cheek. He closed his eyes at my touch, and I slid closer, cradling his face in both my hands. What I would've given to have restored his voice . . . I sighed and stroked his hair.

"I know, Chev. I missed you, too. But don't be sorry; I could've come for you instead of waiting."

As soon as I said that, his eyes flew open and he hurriedly tapped at his 'pad again.

NO. IT WAS TOO DANGEROUS; I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN A TIE AND TRIED TO CONTACT YOU. AT LEAST YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE, AND I . . .

He paused at that, biting his lip and turning away. I felt so sorry for him because I knew what he meant: "And I would still have my voice." Tears welled in my eyes as I squeezed his shoulders.

"Don't think like that," I told him. "This isn't your fault. It was . . . an accident. I love you anyway, no matter what happens. All right?"

I KNOW, BUT THAT DOESN'T HELP . . . WHAT IF YOU GET IN TROUBLE AND I CAN'T WARN YOU? WHAT IF I'M IN TROUBLE, AND I CAN'T CALL YOU? I CAN'T JUST LIVE LIKE THIS!

His shoulders slumped as he looked down, and I felt fear take a foothold in me. He couldn't just give up . . . Suddenly, I realized that I'd been right to worry that this loss would turn him into someone I didn't know. I hoped to the Force that he wouldn't begin contemplating suicide. If he was, _I_ couldn't live like that. I gave his shoulder another hard squeeze.

"You _can't_ give out on me, Chev!" I begged. "You never have before. You're not the kind of man who gives up. We'll think of something. We'll make it. Maybe we can use a whistle system or something. We _will_ make it. I swear to you!"

I'll admit, that was one heck of a grand ultimatum, but . . . it didn't work. He just turned and looked sadly at me, seeming almost annoyed that I would make such a suggestion. Then he turned and tapped at the 'pad before holding it up.

ROUGE, PLEASE, UNDERSTAND. YOU KNOW I'M A COMMANDER . . . I CAN'T TRUST HAND SIGNS IN THE THICK OF BATTLE. I HAVE TO BE ABLE TO CALL THE SHOTS.

Remember how before we rescued him I could practically hear him barking orders? (_"You call that marching, soldier? You straighten up or that shiny armor's gonna be the universal symbol of _sissies_!"_) Well, now I couldn't hear anything. In my mind, I could no longer hear him doing what he loved best . . . what he was trained for . . . what he was _born_ for. I couldn't help but look down as my hand fell from his arm.

"I—I know," I said quietly. "I just want to help you . . . I don't want you to turn away and shut me out like I did to you when I lost my memory. I don't think I could stand it if you did that."

I couldn't help but think back on that. It was a horrible memory, what with my stubborn refusals of his help and his heartbreaking pleas for me to just let him try. The thought was so bad that I started breathing a bit heavier as my throat tightened with grief. At that point, there were only three words that came to my mind: _This isn't fair._ As if he'd heard me, Chev turned and looked at me with those mournful brown eyes of his before he typed out a new message.

IT'S JUST . . . SO _HARD_, NOT BEING ABLE TO SAY WHAT I WANT TO SAY. I NEVER THOUGHT IT WOULD HAPPEN. I _CAN'T_ BE VOICELESS.

I nodded, swallowing hard. How something so important could be ripped from him in a horrible instant . . . I didn't know. I could never in my wildest dreams have seen this coming, and now that it had actually happened, I could neither believe it nor understand it. I _did_ know that I hated it, however: I hated Vader for taking him away from me; I hated the Trandoshan slavers for taking his voice away, and I hated feeling so useless and completely helpless. But most of all, I think, I hated seeing him so outright miserable.

"I know you can't," I said, scooting around in front of him and clasping his hands. "I don't want you to be voiceless, either. I don't know what I could possibly say to you to ease your pain . . . What do you _want_ me to say, Chev?"

He gazed at me for the longest time, his eyes searching mine. There was no way I could know what was running through his mind, though I wished I could. Then he pulled his hands free to type out a message.

I DON'T THINK THERE'S ANYTHING TO BE SAID. I JUST HAVE TO KNUCKLE THROUGH IT.

_Knuckle through it._ That was my Chev. He wouldn't let anything get the better of him, even if it _was_ agonizingly painful. He pulled his knees back into his chest and stared out the window, watching hyperspace hurtle past. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I threw my arms around his neck, exhaling heavily. I noticed that as I embraced him, he tensed, but then he relaxed and wrapped his arms around my waist. I rested my chin on his shoulder for a moment.

"Will you let me help you, though?" I whispered in his ear. "I know this hurts, but . . . will you just let me help? I'll do whatever I have to."

At that, I pulled back and gently turned his face toward me as I kissed him, eyes closed. It felt like it had been a lifetime since we'd been that close . . . and I could think of one step closer, but I knew he couldn't possibly be ready yet. And yet . . . I was a bit surprised when he kissed me back, and I was just getting totally used to it when he pulled back and looked at me, nodding slowly. That meant he'd let me help him; he wouldn't turn away, wouldn't shut me out. Then he treated me to a faint, tiny smile, and I reached up to push several loose strands of hair from his eye, just gazing into his eyes.

"We'll be okay," I whispered. "I'm not going to abandon you just because of this stumbling block."

He nodded to indicate comprehension as I sighed and nestled my head in his shoulder. He just rested his chin on the top of my head, and I felt his chest heave as he exhaled. A moment later, he gently pushed me back as he slid off his left gauntlet and peeled back the glove, revealing his wedding band. I gazed at it for a moment before putting my hand on his and squeezing, smiling at him.

"Lae said that was how she knew you were bluffing," I said. "You took your chestplate off but not your ring. Speaking of your plate . . . you want that back?"

I stood and walked to a nearby corner, tugging out the chestplate in question. I looked at it, brushed the dust off, then brought it back to him. As I knelt in front of him again, he took the plate in his hands and just stared at it for the longest time in deep contemplation. He lightly ran his hand around The Hole, studying it. The next thing I knew, he set it aside, shook his head, and rapped his fist on his current plate to draw my attention. It drew it, all right; I immediately found myself staring at a series of inverted _v_'s trailing down the front of the new plate, just like the old one, but . . . There was something different. One of the inverted _v_'s intersected perfectly with a regular one.

Chev tapped it and looked at me as if hoping I'd know what it meant. I did. It meant _us_. It symbolized our marriage and everything we had. I nodded to show I understood as I reached over and clasped his hand, smiling a bit. I didn't say anything for the longest time as he and I gazed at each other. But then I finally spoke, grateful that I _could_.

"You know the others are going to be so happy to see you again," I said. "They got so worried about you. Scorch wanted to come and rescue you, but Lar wouldn't let him."

He smiled at me, and there was a faint, wheezing cough as he tried to chuckle. My heart wrenched with sorrow as he rubbed his throat as if it hurt. I put my hand on his, sighing and smoothing his jet-black hair. He looked at me, eyes suddenly mournful again, as he gently touched my face just as he had so many years before in that darkened corridor on Kamino. I felt my eyes grow watery as I sighed and snuggled into his arms, closing my eyes and holding him as much as he was holding me. Somehow, I had to help him. He _had_ to speak again for his sake, for my sake, for his child's sake. We'd find a doctor, find _somebody_. If I had to, I'd drag him all the way back to Kamino, find Taun We, and get her to clone some new vocal cords for him! But I didn't know if she'd even still be there after all this time. So I could only sigh, hope, and pray for a miracle as the _Chevron_ hurtled through hyperspace, headed for home.


	14. Not So Warm Welcome

**Chapter Thirteen – Not So Warm Welcome**

Chev and I fell asleep back there in the cargo hold because the day had just been so exhausting. We didn't wake up until the ship lurched slightly and came to a halt, but even then I had trouble coming around. I finally pushed myself up, blinking slowly and trying to get everything to come back into focus, and that was when I realized we were home. That knowledge filled me with a surge of joy, so I scrambled up and peered out the window. There were Larra, Lae, and Trent talking in the yard with the Delta boys; it was nearing sunset. I turned around and lightly nudged Chev. He normally could awaken instantly because of his years of training, but this time, it took several pokes before he finally stirred. Then he blinked up at me and rubbed his forehead as if asking either what'd happened or where we were. So I answered both.

"We fell asleep," I said, "and we're back home."

His eyebrows shot skyward with delight at hearing that, so he shoved up from the floor and ran toward the loading ramp. I was right on his heels as he thundered down the loading ramp, a huge smile on his face. Scorch ran at us, an enormous grin lighting up his face.

"Hey, Chev, Rogue!" he said, grabbing Chev into a bear hug. "Welcome back from your big, bad rescue with all the fun!"

"You're still jealous, aren't you?" Fixer asked teasingly. Scorch just beamed angelically.

"Well, apart from being encircled by a ring of Trandos while trying to rescue Chev," Larra chuckled, "you didn't miss much."

That didn't satisfy Scorch. He turned to me, eyebrows raised.

"But there _were_ some explosions, _riiiight_?"

"Actually, not really," I shrugged. "I did gas a hallway with a few of them in it, though."

Sev voiced a hearty "Attagirl!" as he clapped me so hard on the shoulder that I staggered forward a bit. Yep, he was still as bloodthirsty as ever. Scorch grinned almost maniacally as Boss looked at Chev.

"At least you're still in one piece, _vod_," he said with that paternal tone we'd all grown to love so well. Looks like things went decently in the Imp forces."

Chev smiled and nodded, shrugging a bit. I felt a pang of regret, knowing that he wouldn't be able to tell them of everything that happened unless he wrote it on his datapad and I read it to them. He was naturally silent for a very long time, and when he didn't voice his thoughts, Larra reached over and squeezed his shoulder, gazing at him in her sisterly way.

"Always good to get _vode_ back," she said. "True fact."

Chev nodded and shot a grateful look at her, but . . . the others noticed his unusual silence. Now, Chev was naturally a quiet man; he only ever spoke when there was something needed sayin'. My stomach turned a somersault as I realized that the Deltas had taken notice of his extreme silence. Scorch was the first to verbalize this observation.

"Hey, Chev," he said. "Is somethin' wrong? You look . . . well, _terrible_."

"That isn't nice," Boss chided.

I felt all my defenses go on overdrive as I squeezed Chev's arm, snuggling up to his side and sliding fully into the doting, concerned wife.

"Oh, he's fine," I said nonchalantly, as if it didn't matter—as if there were nothing wrong. "He's been through a lot in the past few days, is all."

Trying to avoid a sticky situation, I took Chev and started leading him to the house, stating how I was going to get some food in him and then make him take a nap. We were almost to the door when Sev spoke up.

"Even for him, he's really quiet today."

_He's going to be really quiet for the rest of his life,_ I thought miserably, squeezing Chev's hand when he stiffened.

"He's fine," Lar replied calmly, covering for us. "Trandos tossed him around a bit. Any calls while we were out?"

"The Alliance just called to say they were moving around, trying to keep the Imps off their back," Boss said. "That Skywalker kid really twirked some people off. Word's out that the Emperor's got a big ol' bounty on his head."

"And I bet I know just who'd be after him," Sev grumbled.

"Ten creds says 'Uncle Boba,'" Trent replied. Sev nodded and frowned.

"Oh . . ." Larra looked pensive. "That _almost_ asks for a little bit of body-guarding."

"Mom," Lae interjected. "We're _commandos_, not bodyguards."

"And when did that include you and Trent?" Larra asked. Lae went silent, though Sev excused her by saying simply, "She's been hangin' out with us too long."

Throughout that whole dialogue, Chev had begun looking immensely thoughtful. When I asked what was on his mind, he leaned over to me, pretending to whisper in my ear but instead discreetly typing out a message on his wrist. He flashed it at me.

SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD DEAL. TRUST ME, THERE WASN'T MUCH INTERESTIN' TO DO ON THAT SCUM-BUCKET ANYWAY.

"Body-guarding?" I whispered, almost in disbelief. This was . . . a little unusual. It'd be a career change, for starters. I arched both eyebrows. "We're going to volunteer to protect that youngster?"

WELL, IF IT MEANS KEEPING BOBA OFF HIS BACK, THEN YEAH. BESIDES, I HAVE YET TO GET A CRACK AT THAT _CHAKAAR_.

He grinned wickedly at me as he displayed that message, and I couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"Indeed," I said, eyes glinting conspiratorially. "And I'd let you, too." I turned around, still holding onto his arm, and I jabbed a thumb at the two of us. "Folks, I think this Skywalker kid has a couple of bodyguards."

Scorch pouted when I made this declaration.

"Not us? We don't get to play?"

"I think it'd be better to let them be together," Larra said, "considering that Chev's been a practical prisoner to the Empire for a couple months."

Chev nodded quickly, and I squeezed his hand. We'd have to talk about that later. Well, _I'd_ talk, anyway; he'd type. That seemed to unfairly lopsided.

"So we don't get to play . . ." Scorch muttered, shoulders slumped.

"Cheer up, _vod_," Boss encouraged. "You have to think about it on a larger scale. What if we're off doing body-guarding and the Alliance needs a good commando team for an important mission? If we're busy, we wouldn't be able to do it, now would we?"

"_Especially_ if said mission requires blowing something up?" Larra nodded emphatically, crossing her arms. "Blowing up eventually versus body-guarding now. I'd have to go with blowing up later."

"_Oh._" Scorch looked a little happier. "Well, if there are going to be _explosions_ . . ."

"Somehow, I figured he'd say that," Fixer said, shaking his head to hide his faint smile. "Once a pyromaniac, _always_ a pyromaniac."

Scorch nodded and traipsed over to hug his children as Boss chuckled and turned to Chev and me.

"So, body-guarding?" he said. "That's going to be different from anything else you're used to, huh?"

_Please, Boss,_ I thought. _Please don't ask questions . . ._

Chev just shrugged a bit, almost as if he didn't really care, but I could see the anxiety in his eyes and feel it in the way his grip tightened around my hand. Boss slightly raised a brow, and at that moment, my entire body went on alert. I have this . . . complex, you see. I don't suppose it really _is_ a complex, but that's just what I call it: the Rogue Fett Protective Female Bear Complex. And that was what made me want to jump out in front of Chev and protect him from everything, even a friend. But this friend was being nosy, and he walked nearer to Chev and me.

_Stop it, Boss,_ I begged silently, wishing he could hear me. _Just leave us alone. Leave _him_ alone._

"Chev . . ." he said slowly. "You okay? You don't look well."

_He would if you'd stop asking these infernal questions!_

"H—he's just tired," I cut in, perhaps too quickly. "It's been a long day."

I tried to keep a steady gaze, yet my eyes flicked around nervously. I did _not_ like where this was going, and from the corner of my eye, I could see that Larra's entire posture had stiffened. Trent and Lae looked concerned; everybody else was either confused or worried.

"Of _course_ he's tired," Larra interjected, drawing Boss's attention for a minute. "I mean, he was pretty beat up when we got him out of there."

"Yeah, you should've seen how we got him outta there!" Lae enthused. Boss turned a bit, and while I could've used that distraction to get Chev and me in the house and stay there, for some odd reason . . . I didn't. "I could sense those Trandos up above us, and Mom just tossed her lightsabers up and killed those Trandos without hurting Chev! It was so cool!"

Well, that got Sev's attention, at least, because he turned and started discussing the "coolness" of that move with Lae and Trent, both of whom enthusiastically humored him. Boss just tilted his head, and Chev swallowed hard.

"But we haven't heard a single word out of him all day . . ." Boss protested.

"Oh, leave him be." Fixer to the rescue! "Do _you_ talk when you're dog-tired?"

My grip tightened protectively on Chev's arm as I turned toward the house. I was getting terrified; if Boss didn't let this go, he would soon learn a very nasty factoid. I personally wanted to get Chev behind me and shield him from Boss's prying questions because our old friend had _never_ been like this. He _knew_ Chev was a quiet man! Now he was just . . . quieter. He'd learn in due time; right now was _not_ due time!

_Boss, Boss, go away; bother Chev some other day._

"Besides," Larra sighed, "it _was_ very tiring, getting through all those lizards; there was slime all over the place."

Trent gave an emphatic "And it was _gross_" as I swallowed a bit harder than I would've liked. Running a hand behind myself, I found the doorknob, twisted, and shoved the door open.

"I'm taking him inside," I told Boss firmly. "He needs his rest since we're getting ready to go on that body-guarding bit. You can ask questions later."

"Even though my curiosity isn't satisfied?" Boss asked, brow raised. I glared at him.

"Hey, it _never_ is," Sev scoffed. I mentally thanked him for that even though Boss shot him a nasty look.

"I just want to know why he hasn't said a word the entire time—just nods or shrugs. Makes a body worried."

_Boss, _please_! Just _go away

By now I was so nervous that my heart was pounding in my ears and my hands were getting sweaty. Lae looked at me, almost helplessly, and I returned that look. Trent sighed and looked askance at his uncle.

"Uncle Jarred, you're being nosy," he observed. Boss chuckled dryly.

"It's my _job_, _Tren'ika_."

_It is _not I wanted to scream. _Just stop it! Let the subject _drop

I very nearly punched Boss in the nose, turned, and ran into the house. At least the punch would've slowed him long enough for me to get Chev out of there. What made Boss think he had the right?! Just because he'd been the leader of Delta Squad for Force knows how long, he didn't have cause to go nosing into places where he wasn't welcome! Chev's eyes flickered anxiously, and I knew he wanted to be anywhere but _there_. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lip, and I could almost hear his thoughts; I guess that's because they probably mimicked my own: "Boss, I don't _want_ to answer. I don't want to _have_ to answer. Please, let it go. Just let it _drop_."

"Look, if he's not feeling like talking, so what?" Larra came in, sounding a little ticked off now that Boss wasn't letting go. "There're times when _I've_ felt like that!"

A thin layer of sweat beaded across my forehead as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Then I decided. I was taking Chev _now_, and Boss would not stop me. I took his hand and quickly turned to the house, trying to run from the scene before it got painful. But the fading evening light glinted off Chev's armor, casting a bit of illumination on the scar across his throat. I was almost through the door when Boss stepped up, brows furrowed worriedly. Then the horrible question.

"Chev, what happened to your neck? Where'd that long scar come from?"

"There is no scar on him, Boss," I hissed as Chev's brow went up in a "What scar?" fashion. "You are becoming overly paranoid and _extremely_ pushy. So how's about you just let him get some rest?"

Boss looked slightly taken aback before he took one long stride and came to Chev's side. Chev went straight as a board, face cold.

"How could you _not_ notice it?!" Boss exclaimed. "_That_ scar!"

Then he did the unimaginable. He stretched out his index finger and lightly traced the scar, his finger hovering maybe only a half inch above Chev's throat. My blood ran absolutely cold as Boss's brows crashed together in worry, and across the yard, Trent inhaled sharply. Lae just murmured "Oh, Uncle Jarred . . ." The next second, Chev gulped hard, took two steps back, and then shot off into the house, slamming the door behind him. Larra tossed Boss the meanest glare she knew.

"Jarred, you just _had_ to push it . . ."

I exhaled heavily, leveling him with an even _meaner_ glare and stepping up to him until I was in his face. I had had _enough_. He had pushed and prodded until Chev had no choice but to run! I had no doubts that Boss's finger being so close had made Chev feel as if the Trandos were coming at him with their blades again. My first thought? "How _dare_ he?!"

"You _did_, didn't you?!" I shrieked. "You just wouldn't leave him alone! I'm sure _you_ have plenty of scars that _we_ never get to see!"

"Well . . ." Boss almost looked repentant. _Almost._

"Well, _nothing_!" I barked at him. "You want to know how he got that scar?! All right. _I'll_ tell you because he _can't_!" I got right up in his face, glaring hard. And then I let loose. "Those Force-damn slavers slit his vocal cords. Yeah, you heard me! _SLIT THEM._ He'll probably _never_ be able to talk again, and he's taking it really hard. I keep telling him it'll be all right if only because if I don't have any hope, we'll _both_ go insane!"

I was so hyped up, so thoroughly _livid_, that I hauled off and smacked him across the face before turning on heel and dashing into the house, headed for Chev. I didn't even care that he looked stunned and even insulted by that open-palmed slap; he had had plenty of opportunity to let the subject drop! But _noooo_ . . . He just _had_ to carry on until Chev was too damn upset to stand it anymore! Growling with frustration, I stormed into the house, trying to work off my anger before I got to Chev. What good would it do him if I was too angry to be calmed? Besides, even with that giant _osik_ storm, I really didn't want to miscarry, either.

I found Chev curled up in an armored heap on our bed, trembling almost violently. In that moment, he looked so alone, so _vulnerable_, that all my anger vanished instantly. I slid onto the bed beside him, and when the mattress squeaked, he turned his tear-stained face toward me. The next second, I nearly tumbled backwards as his full weight landed on me. I could only sigh and hold him as he wept, though I desperately tried to hold back my own tears.

"Shh, baby, I'm here," I whispered. "I'm here. Oh, Chev . . . I'm so sorry. I should've tried to stop him. It's my fault. I'm so sorry."

I rubbed his backplate before he pushed back, tapped at his wrist, and held up the message.

IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. I SHOULD HAVE LET THEM KNOW . . . BUT THE WAY ACE LOOKED AT ME . . .

He exaggerated a sigh and buried his face in his hands. I put my arms around his shoulders and inhaled deeply. I knew what he meant. Boss had looked at him so accusingly that it was if he'd known ever since we'd gotten home that there was something wrong with Chev; it was if he considered Chev some sort of freak now. I hoped that wasn't the truth, but that was how it had felt.

"I know . . . I saw it . . . He's never had that look in his eye before."

Gently, I stroked his hair as he laid his head on my shoulder. In the back of my mind, I counted all the times he'd been my solitary source of strength. Now, more than ever, I had to be that for him. I lightly kissed his forehead, pushing a few renegade strands back into place and humming softly as if a song could help him. _"Vode An"_: it was our favorite. After a moment, I sighed and just rested my chin on his head. He had gone still, almost as if he was asleep, but his eyes were open and just staring at the wall.

"Even if he acts like that," I said, "the rest of us are still here for you. And we'll go to the Rebels, volunteer, and maybe . . . maybe they'll have someone who can help you."

He shifted slightly. Then . . . _tap_,_ tap_,_ tap_.

HOW CAN WE KNOW? YOU HEARD STICK . . . THE CUTS'RE CLEAN. MAYBE THEY _WON'T_ GROW BACK TOGETHER. I MIGHT AS WELL GET USED TO IT.

I stiffened at that and shoved him up so I could look him in the eye and have my hands on his shoulders. He wouldn't meet my gaze at first, but then I grabbed his face in both my hands and forced him to look at me. I did _not_ like the eyes that met mine; they were so full of anguish and sorrow—and depression, even—that they were hardly anything like the ones I'd first deemed as "very nice" so long ago in the Kaminoan refectory. My husband was in agony, and I . . . I couldn't do one damn thing.

"You just stop right there," I said firmly. "You've never given up on anything before. You didn't give up on me _or_ yourself all those years ago. We _WILL_ find someone who can help you. Maybe they could operate, put them back together. Or use a connector to bridge the gap. I'm not letting this go this easy."

ROGUE . . . PLEASE. THERE'S ONE THING I REMEMBER VERY WELL: DON'T TRY TO BE OPTIMISTIC. OTHERWISE YOU'LL ALWAYS BE DISAPPOINTED.

_Chev, I don't think I know you anymore._

He looked away as my hands fell from his face in something akin to shock, but then his gaze turned to the ceiling, as if he were wishing for a miracle from the Force or whatever gods there were. I felt hot tears sting my eyes as I determinedly locked my jaw and turned his face back to me.

"Chev, don't do this," I begged. "You've never been like this. Listen, I _know_ it hurts. I _know_ you're scared. But please, don't do this to yourself, to me, to _us_. You have to hold _some_ hope!"

I'VE _TRIED_. BUT . . . IT'S JUST TOO MUCH SOMETIMES. STICK TOLD ME ABOUT THAT YEAR AFTER I GOT KILLED, HOW SHE WENT HALF-MAD WITH GRIEF. I THINK I KNOW HOW SHE FEELS.

I inhaled sharply. I remembered that. That was, in essence, the worst year of my life. And I'll admit, there was a moment, sitting there beside him and trying to see a way through this voice loss problem, that I wondered if our marriage was going to be torn to shreds because of this. But I had to be tough. I'd always been tough; after all, who had lost her memory but come back fighting? Exactly. I just took a deep breath, nodding slowly, and ran my fingers through his hair. He trembled, almost as if he were going to break down in tears again, but he didn't.

"You know what, Chev? I know, too. When I lost you . . . I wanted to die. I seriously considered suicide then. But now . . . now I can't _because_ of you, and I would hope you wouldn't consider it now because of me."

_And because of our child,_ I added silently.

"Chev, this scares me, too. I don't know what's going to happen. I just know we have to keep a little optimism."

I _HAVE_ BEEN TRYING! I WAITED AND WAITED, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THE RIGHT TIME TO GET OUT, AND THEN WHEN THE TIME FINALLY CAME, I LOST THE ONE THING THAT MEANS MY ENTIRE LIFE! _I CAN'T TALK!_ WHAT GOOD SOLDIER CAN'T TALK, CAN'T GIVE ORDERS?! THERE _AREN'T_ ANY!

I frowned as my eyes narrowed and my hand dropped from his hair. This had gone quite far enough. He was a far more patient person than I could ever be because he'd endured all my complaining during my little amnesic stint, but I didn't have that much of that particular character quality. If he was going to get through this, he needed to quit making excuses, and he needed to stop making them _now_.

"Okay, you just listen for a minute, all right? If you'd quit feeling so sorry for yourself for one kriffin' second, you'd know I was trying to _help_ you! Yeah, you lost your voice. I'm _sorry_ about that. But, dammit, if you can't find some way to fight this, then you're allowing yourself to be beaten! The Chev I married would NEVER allow that. He'd _fight_! He'd find someway to get a strike in edgewise. And currently, you are NOT him."

I knew I'd touched a very sensitive nerve because Chev's eyes flashed angrily. He slammed his fist into the wall before leaping up and storming for the door. Well, I was ready for him. I swung my legs over the opposite side of the bed and blocked the door before he could get to it.

"No, you're _not_ getting off this easy! I will _not_ let you give up on yourself!" When he tried to push past me, I put both hands on his chestplate and shoved him back. (Know that muscling him around has always been hard for me; I'm not the biggest woman in the universe.) "You just chill and _listen_ to me, okay?"

His eyes were still flashing; I swore I could see lightning bolts dancing in them. But now they narrowed dangerously, as if he was contemplating physically—and emotionally—pushing me aside just so he could get past. Well, I wouldn't let him. He tugged himself out of my grip and gave me his darkest, angriest look. I'll admit, I felt a bit of terror. I had never _ever_ seen him that angry. But I could be just as angry and ten times feistier. I just stared him down for a long time before his eyes and body language gave a different message: "And give me one good reason why I _should_ listen to you." That was all I needed.

"Because I LOVE you, Chev! I don't _want_ you to be like this; you think it doesn't break my heart to see you hurting?!"

I lifted my left hand and thrust it into his face; the golden band on my ring finger glinted in the light from the lamp in the corner.

"When you gave me this, I swore to be with you for better or for worse. Well, this strikes me as the 'worse.' And if you bury yourself in a little corner of the galaxy, then you're letting the 'worse' win! I don't know about you, but I sure as hell am NOT going to let you sit idly by and allow yourself to go to ruin!"

Chev frowned at me before furiously pounding out a message on his 'pad. Then he lifted it so fast that he nearly hit me in the face.

WELL, TOO BAD YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING; OTHERWISE YOU MAY BE THINKING TWICE! I KNOW THINGS . . . THINGS THAT I HEARD AND ACTED ON. THERE'RE BIG SECRETS THEY LET SLIP. I COULD ONLY TRUST MY VOICE TO RETURN THOSE SECRETS TO ALLIANCE HANDS. I CAN'T TRUST A COMPUTER.

"Then you have to quit this pity party and let me do whatever I can to help you! If that means finding a doctor who can make repairs, great. If it means praying for a miracle, then that's great, too."

I reached out and gripped his arm so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart was pounding, my face was flushed, and I was _scared_. No longer was I the irritated "Get your act together right now!" little wife; now I was the frightened little wife. I was the woman who was terrified of losing her husband to anything and everything—especially his depression and perhaps sudden thoughts of suicide.

"Please, don't do this," I begged. "I'm _scared_, Chev. I'm scared that I'll lose you! I don't _want_ to lose you. I lost you once, and I refuse to do so again! _Please_, just _try_ to think! _Try_ to let me help you! Just let _me_ try!"

Chev looked away solemnly, but I noted that the fierce flame of anger in his eyes had died down a bit. I suppose it was something common to Fett genes: fast to flame, quick to cool. Comes from being descended from a long line of people with fiery natures.

. . . AND I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU. BUT SENDING AN ENCRYPTED STRAND IS TOO RISKY. IT'S AS IF THEY'VE RE-CLONED SEVVIE, TOO—AN EXPERT SLICER.

Re-cloned . . . _Sevvie_? Was that possible? Oh, who was I kidding; of _course_ it was possible! After all, look at how Chev had come back to me. I swallowed my surprise and decided that, currently, there were more important things than investigating the appearance of a potential Sevvie double.

"Perhaps they did," I mused. "But if it's this important, we'll tell the Rebellion. We'll either get your voice back or you can tell me the info and I'll tell it to the Alliance brass. This . . . had to have happened for a reason. We just need to figure out what that reason is."

Chev nodded once before his steely mask crumbled and he opened his arms to me. I went willingly to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder. Now it was my turn for an emotional moment. Everything came crashing down back around me: his loss, the look in Boss's eyes, the knowledge of our child . . . I inhaled shakily as I clung to him.

"Chev, I'm afraid," was all I could manage. He just nodded rapidly and squeezed me close, and I knew what he was saying: "Me, too."

Larra brought us dinner a little while later, and we just ate in our room. After that, we grabbed showers and packed our knapsacks; after all, we'd be leaving in the morning to sign on with the Rebel fleet. Their star pilot still needed protection from the one and only Boba Fett, and we seemed to be the ones best qualified for that task. As we crawled into bed and turned off the lights, that was when it got excruciatingly hard for me. Ever since I'd found out that he'd played a trick on Vader (and not the other way around), I'd been looking ahead to the first night we'd be back together. I'd expected . . . well, I'd expected marital activities, to put it tastefully. But now . . . neither of us seemed to think that now was a good time. And, that night, I realized for the first time and to my horror that I'd probably never again hear him actually _say_ "I love you." Oh, sure, I could _read_ it from his datapad if he typed it up for me to see, but actually _hearing_ . . . To all you married women out there, _never_ take your husband's voice for granted. One day you might not hear it. But that night, I was lying on my side, gazing out the window at the moonbeam-washed plains, when the mattress squeaked a bit. The next moment, Chev's arm came around my waist as he came to my side, pressed his mouth to my ear, and mouthed those words. As I felt his warm breath and the gentle pressure of his lips forming the words with slightly exaggerated enunciation, tears sprang to my eyes until I couldn't hold them back. I burst into uncontrollable tears as Chev held me; I cried quietly, but he cried absolutely silently.

_I don't ask for much,_ I thought, looking at the ceiling as if there were some all-powerful being that could fix these problems, _but please give my Chev his voice back._


	15. Heading Out

**Chapter Fourteen – Heading Out**

The next morning, Chev was awake long before I was. In fact, the thing that woke me up was the sound of water running in the 'fresher. I groggily dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the 'fresher, where I found Chev shaving. He smiled at me when I came in before leaning over and pecking me on the cheek, leaving me with shaving cream smudged across my face. I just left it there for a minute, wiping it off only before I left the bedroom to go say good morning to Larra and to tell her our plans. She was already up and fixing breakfast, and Trent was with her, setting the table. I figured Lae was still asleep due to her whacked-out biological clock. When I wandered into the kitchen, Trent bid me a good morning, and Larra turned, smiling a bit.

"Mornin', Rogue," she said. "How're you?"

"Fine and dandy," I replied, though I thought I was feeling a slight bout of morning sickness. I figured I'd get over it.

"And Chev?"

"He was up before I was. Didn't want the day to get away from him, I guess."

I paused, walking over and picking up a piece of fruit from the basket on the table. I studied it for a bit, turning it over in my hands, before I eventually decided just to leave it alone. I set it back down as I fetched myself a cup of caf and settled down at the table.

"We're heading out today," I said after a minute. Larra turned and looked at me, eyes dark and almost sad. "We figured we'd go see if Skywalker will take us on as bodyguards."

Larra was silent for a moment before she simply said "Oh." I didn't know the meaning of that, but I figured that she was worried for Chev, if not me. Maybe she wanted Chev to stay home for a while, maybe recover from being with the Imps for so long. I didn't blame her; Chev was her brother and she loved him as such. I sighed, absently stirring my caf as the kitchen went silent except for the sizzling of nerf bacon on the stove. I suspected that if I weren't pregnant, I'd be hungry, so I just sat there, completely disinterested in anything but getting on the road. After a minute, Larra's bedroom door creaked open and Scorch shuffled out, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his hair even worse than it already was. Larra and Trent both greeted him, but Scorch just went right to the caf. I chuckled, sipping my own before looking over at Larra.

"Sevvie awake yet?" I asked, giving rise to an idea I'd been mulling over.

"Mm-hmm," she replied. "He's an early riser. Why?"

"Oh, no particular reason," I said. "Just wanted to talk to him a minute."

"You're in luck," Larra answered. "He's already out in his lair."

I smiled a bit and pushed back from the table, standing up and heading toward the door. Chev came out of our bedroom just before I went out, so I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out. As I closed the door behind me, I saw him go up to Larra and give her a brotherly hug which she returned. My heart squeezed as I padded, barefoot, out onto the front porch. It was a gorgeous morning: a cool breeze was blowing, the sun hadn't been up long, and birds were chirping in the two-story-tall tree off the corner of Sevvie's "lair." I just stood there, arms wrapped around myself, for a minute as I breathed deeply of the early morning air. Then I started off across the yard for Sevvie's workshop, knocking lightly on the door before shoving it open. There sat Sevvie, hunched over one of his newest projects.

"Mornin', Sevvie," I said. "Got a favor to ask of you."

"This early?" He turned, hydrospanner in hand. "Sounds mighty important."

"Well, I guess you could say it is," I replied, walking closer and observing the wreck his workbench was in. "Can you find the location of just about anybody in the 'verse?"

His expression was one of shock that I could ask such a doubtful question, but then it turned to a wide, self-confident grin as he reached over and hooked a few cables to a computer. It started up with a whir, and he nodded at me.

"Sure can." He turned to the computer, dragging up his homemade software. "Who's on your mind?"

"Kal."

His backbone straightened, and he just stared at his computer for a minute before turning slowly and looking at me. His eyes glinted a bit merrily before he wheeled around to his keypad.

"Oh, you've got it!"

He went quiet as his fingers went _tap, tap, tap_ on the keyboard. I leaned back against a wall, watching. Yes, that was my plan. Either before or after Chev and I signed on for bodyguard duty, we'd go see _Kal'buir_. That would be my homecoming present to Chev. Not to mention that since Kal had practically _raised_ Chev, it would be almost a family reunion. And, well, I figured that Chev could use the support of his surrogate _buir_ at a time like this. I mulled this plan over in my mind for a while before Sevvie let out a slow sigh of satisfaction and tossed a datapad at me. I caught it so that it was sandwiched between my hands and looked at it. Sevvie stood and walked over to me, pointing down at it, a proud grin making his face glow.

"Gotcha everything you'll need," he said. "His exact location down to the _inch_, hyperspace routes, comm frequency . . . Wanna call the Nulls and let 'em know you're gonna be payin' _Kal'buir_ a visit? Got their individual frequencies, too."

"Sevvie, just how do you _do_ this?!" I asked, staring down at the 'pad and trying to absorb the vast amounts of information he'd gotten me. He grinned.

"One percent _kaminii_ training and ninety-nine percent pure genius," he chuckled.

I smiled at him before _hugging him_ and surprising the stars out of him. He patted my shoulder before lightly brushing me off and glancing out of the single window in the workshop.

"Stick got breakfast on yet?" he asked. I nodded.

"It was almost done when I was in there."

His eyebrows shot up as he loped out the door toward the house. I looked down at the datapad once more before following him out, and when I arrived back at the kitchen, everyone was gathered at the table. Chev patted the seat next to him—my usual spot—so I slid in, looking around. Lae had finally dragged out of bed, as had the rest of the Deltas. I noticed that Boss looked a little . . . guilty, to say the least, and for a moment, I felt sorry for him. After all, he hadn't know about . . . about Chev. But breakfast was peaceful, with quiet conversation on various subjects. Eventually we got around to how Chev and I were leaving that morning, and I swear, Lae almost came across the table to hug me. As we all rose from the table and put the dishes in the sink, Boss came up alongside Chev and me and pulled us aside.

"Look, about yesterday," he said. "I'm sorry about that . . . scene."

My frustration flared a bit, and I sighed, fighting down some snide remark.

"Chev deserves your apology more than I do, Boss," I replied. He nodded.

"You're right." He paused, sighed, and looked Chev straight in the eye. "Chev, I'm sorry about . . . what happened. I didn't think—"

It took all my willpower to keep from muttering "Darn straight." Chev just arched an eyebrow before slowly tapping out a message on his wrist datapad and holding it up.

IT'S ALL RIGHT. BESIDES, I DIDN'T WANT YOU ALL TO KNOW. IT HURTS, YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW HOW TRAINING WAS.

Boss nodded faintly, glancing at the message before turning his gaze back to Chev's face. I subconsciously slid closer to Chev, almost protectively.

"Yeah, I know," Boss said. "But I guess you _could_ have told us up front, but I know I shouldn't have pushed you. I shouldn't have acted like a big fat _ordinii_."

I sighed, noting the genuinely apologetic look on Boss's face. He was actually sorry for what had happened, and I knew I couldn't hold a grudge for long. Chev typed up another message.

AS I SAID, IT'S ALL RIGHT. I'M NOT MAD BECAUSE YOU PUSHED. I WAS JUST ON A BIT OF A GUILT TRIP, I GUESS. THERE'S NOTHING TO BE SORRY FOR.

"I'm not _even_ going to push that one," Boss said. "Maybe some time you'll be open for a discussion." He looked . . . _relieved_ as he turned to me. "Sorry I twirked you off."

At that, I _knew_ I couldn't be angry with him any longer, and I felt my face soften as I cracked a tiny smile. I offered my own version of "It's all right" before offering to help Larra with the dishes. She waved me off, instead grabbing Lae and Trent for the job. She simply told me to go get packed up. I didn't tell her that Chev and I had been packed since the night before. Instead, I just agreed, and Chev and I went off to get our armor on. As soon as we were alone, Chev held up his wrist; I saw a message typed there.

WHAT HAPPENS IF WE GET THERE AND SKYWALKER DOESN'T WANT US?

That note took me off guard; I hadn't expected that question to come up even though I'd thought about it once or twice. I sighed, turning the lock in the door until it clicked and we were free of any intruders.

"Then we try something else," I replied, tugging off my bathrobe and tossing it onto the bed. "But c'mon—we're the best damn hunt saboteurs in the galaxy. Why would he turn us away, huh?"

Chev smiled ever so faintly, maybe a bit wanly, as his shoulders heaved in a sigh. He tapped at his wrist another minute.

YOU KNOW WE CAN'T GO BACK TO SABOTAGE, ROGUE. WHAT GOOD IS A MUTE SABOTEUR?

I fought down an eye roll as I walked over to him and draped my arms over his shoulders, gazing into his eyes. I _knew_ we were going to make it; we _had_ to.

"_Chev'ika_, listen to me. We'll be fine. Body-guarding, sabotage, whatever. You are still the most talented man I know, voice or no. All right?"

I cradled his face in both of my hands, reaching back and smoothing his hair a moment. And for a split second, I was carried back to the rainy Kaminoan days when any time we could spend together was a miracle. I sighed, studying the glimmer of worry in his eyes and feeling the way his hands anxiously clutched my waist. I again assured him that we'd be fine, no matter what, and he just nodded as he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. I kissed him back, sighing thinly as I wrapped my arms around his neck. I suppose I would've loved for him to carry me off to bed, but let's face it: we really didn't have the time, and I figured he might not feel like it just yet. So I released him as we both went to change into our armor.

It was almost surreal to be slipping into my ol' black-and-silver as he was right next to me, tugging on his Imperial-issue armor. But two hard pinches to the back of my wrist assured me that I wasn't dreaming. Chev held up a message that stated his fervent desire to have Mando armor that was completely _his_ just as I had mine. I made a mental note to get him some materials the next time we had that opportunity so that he could have the armor of his dreams. Secretly, I wondered what design he'd choose, but I knew deep down that it'd be something that would emphasize his name so that no one would ever forget.

We were ready a few minutes later even though I'd purposefully stalled, hoping to stay home as long as possible. But I couldn't hold off anymore because I knew that if we didn't get a move on, that body-guarding job might go down the drain. And, well, I still had that trip to Kal's planned. I grabbed my knapsack, tucking the datapad from Sevvie safely inside, and gave Chev a nod. He returned it and went to the bedroom door, cracking it open and glancing outside. I wondered if he was trying to get away without an emotional farewell, because when he saw that there was no one outside, he waved me out. Well, the house was empty, but as soon as we stepped out onto the front porch, we found the rest of our family standing by the _Chevron_, waiting for us. I took a deep breath and started toward them, only to find myself assaulted by a huge hug from Larra. I embraced her back, sighing a bit. I guess knowing that I probably wasn't going to hear Chev's voice any time soon made it hard to leave home. But we had to; after all, I wasn't good at staying put. As Larra released me, Lae and Trent came at me from both sides. When they let me go, grinning, I turned and found that Larra had thrown her arms around Chev and had caught him by extreme surprise. His shock was so clearly written on his face that I couldn't help but chuckle. Then he lifted his wrist.

LAR . . . CHOKING . . . NOT BREATHING . . .

Larra obviously read that message lightning-quick because she hurriedly released him, smiling in mild embarrassment. A laugh rippled through the air as Larra gave Chev an affectionate head rub and the Deltas—yes, even Sev; shocking!— hugged me before going on to Chev, to whom they gave enthusiastic claps on the shoulder.

"Hey, you take care, huh?" Scorch said, seeming concerned.

"Scorch, it's not like they're going away and never coming back," Sev said, tilting his head at his brother. Funny thing; I could've figured that's what they all thought. Scorch blushed a bit.

"Oh, I—I know. Just . . . saying . . ."

Chev gave our favorite pyromaniac of a commando a wide grin as he lifted his wrist.

SCORCH, RELAX. I'LL BE BACK. JUST YOU SEE!

I couldn't help but smile at the sudden increase in optimism in Chev. Scorch grinned a halfway little grin, shrugging a bit.

"Well, that adds a certain dimension of comfort," he chuckled.

"Wow," Fixer marveled. "Never known you to be so jittery!"

Scorch shrugged again in something of a "Yeah, well" fashion as I turned to Lae and Trent and hugged them each in turn. I certainly loved my niece and nephew; nobody could say otherwise.

"You two just keep your dad outta mischief," I told them, barely smothering my grin.

"Oh, sure thing!" Trent replied emphatically. "You two just have fun! Kick some Imp butt for me!"

At this, he chuckled darkly, and Sev mussed his hair. Lae darted over to her "Uncle Chev" and gave him a tight hug before she stood back and waved goodbye, her glittering amber eyes never losing their seemingly eternal optimism. Chev gave them the widest, brightest, most beaming smile I'd seen from him in a long time before he lead the way to our freighter. I waved over my shoulder as I darted up the loading ramp and into the cockpit; when I arrived, I found Chev already there. He turned as soon as he heard me come up, holding up his wrist and grinning.

WELL, LET'S GET MOVING!

I smiled at him as I slid into the pilot's seat, feeling better about the universe as a whole because Chev was at my side again. He gave me a nod as I eased the _Chevron_ up from the _Manda'yaim_ plains and into the sky, headed for space. I'd gotten the Rebel coordinates from Larra, so I entered them into the navcomp before dashing for hyperspace. As soon as the colorful swirls were rocketing past, I reached over and grabbed Chev's hand. He squeezed mine equally hard, smiling at me before holding up his wrist.

I MISSED YOU, _CYAR'IKA_.

I nodded slowly as I climbed out of my seat and into his, settling myself on his lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist as I cupped his jaw in my hand, sighing a bit.

"I missed you too, Chev," I whispered, thinking to myself how I never _ever_ wanted to let him out of my sight again. "When I didn't hear from you . . . I got so _scared_."

He nodded to show that he understood as he took my chin in his hand and gently pulled me in, kissing me. I didn't even resist; I just leaned willingly against him, returning the kiss. For a minute, I wondered where he was going with this because his grasp tightened on my waist, holding me closer, but after a minute, he and I pulled apart. He just smiled at me but didn't let go of me. I didn't mind. The ship was on auto-pilot, we were headed for the Rebels, and I had him back. I just put my arms around his neck and rested my cheek against the top of his head. And from where I was sitting, even with the current _osik_ storm of his voice loss, life was looking pretty good. After all, the Rebels might have a doctor to help him, and we were going to eventually get to see Kal (I wasn't planning on telling either of them until we showed up on Kal's front door), and maybe we'd have ourselves a new job. So I just closed my eyes and sighed, hugging Chev close as hyperspace rocketed past.


	16. The Rebels

**Chapter Fifteen – The Rebels**

I think Chev and I must've dozed off because we were startled a few hours later by the console's beeping. I slid off his lap and into my usual seat, falling back into the role of pilot and tough-as-nails Mando woman. I suppose that wasn't far from the truth because, well, I've been known to put up some messy fights. Anyway, a quick scan of the instruments revealed that we'd arrived at the Rebels' last known location, and sure enough, there they were. X-wings were speeding around, going from one spot to another, and this large, lumpy vessel—I identified it as Mon Calamari design—was right in the middle: evidently the flagship. I looked at Chev. He nodded. I sent a docking request. We just circled the flagship for a while as we waited for a confirmation; I suspected they were running scans on the _Chevron_ and checking our personal profiles. But after a little bit, an affirmative came in with docking instructions, so we headed closer to the flagship, the _Home One_. When we docked, we noticed there was a whole squadron of Rebel troopers waiting for us. Part of me freaked out at that; I guess I figured it wasn't like the Rebels to let folks dock and then arrest them. Chev and I exchanged a quick, wary glance before he just motioned for me to lead on; he only paused to grab a "regular" datapad so he wouldn't have to rely on his wrist-mounted one. So lead on I did. We went down the loading ramp and out, where a Rebel sergeant approached and asked our business. I gave the shortened version: Chev had vital information for the Alliance and since he didn't want it to fall into Imperial hands, we came to deliver it personally. I wasn't sure how well that went over because the sergeant didn't say anything. He and his men just gave us the once-over, running little handheld scanners over us to check for concealed weapons, explosives, _et cetera_, before he just nodded. I took that as the universal gesture of "You're clean." Then he turned and lead us off down a long corridor, past a handful of other hangars, and into what seemed like the main artery of the ship. I was fine with the ship because it was the Rebel's flagship, but . . . it was so very _white_. It was so much like being back on Kamino that I half-expected to see those blasted _kaminiise_ wandering around. Instead, all I saw was Rebels—and lots of them. There went one in a pilot's suit; I wondered if he were Skywalker. Yes, I was very clueless; I'd not seen so much as a holo of the kid, so how was I to know what he looked like? All I knew was that he was their crack pilot and that he'd destroyed the Death Star. Yay him. I probably could've if I'd lit a deathstick (even though I don't smoke 'em) and dropped it in the right place . . . like the fuel cells? That would've done it.

The sergeant kept leading us down these long, pristine corridors that were so insufferably _white_ that I thought I'd scream. I knew Chev was having a hard time with it, too, because at one point there was a sudden pressure on my hand: his. He squeezed my hand and all I could do was squeeze back, wanting to tell him "It's okay" but perhaps fearing the odd looks we'd get. And then there was the fact that my black and silver armor really, _really_ stood out. Think "sore thumb." But, thankfully, it wasn't much longer before we came to a door. The sergeant went to a little viewscreen and let the folks inside know we were there, addressing someone as "Princess." _Princess?_ Holy _osik_, Chev was gonna talk to a _princess_! Then the door opened, the sergeant turned around, said "Princess Organa will see you now," and then he was gone. Chev and I looked at each other for one moment before we went inside. There, at a long conference table, sat a half-dozen people and one woman who I automatically assumed was this Princess Organa. Maybe it was the charismatic air she had, or maybe it was the neatness of her pantsuit (which, thankfully, was _not_ white). Whatever the reason, I knew she was the one we would need to speak with. She glanced at us and said a few closing words to those around her—generals, other advisors, the like—before turning completely to us. And as she did, I realized that I recognized her from reports on the HoloNet. A couple years back, not too long before that Skywalker kid was catapulted to stardom, Alderaan had been completely obliterated from the face of the galaxy. Two words: blame the Empire. Okay, so that was three; that's only a matter of semantics, though. Anyway, she was Alderaan's princess and senator, Leia Organa. Her father had been killed with the rest of the planet, that had made a big news splash, and so forth. I wasn't quite sure how to act with royalty, so I just nodded faintly as she stood, and Chev gave a slight bow from the waist. She just smiled a bit at us.

"So you're Rogue and Chevron Fett," she said, sounding neither angry nor bouncily happy. "I've heard a great deal of you."

"Hope it's all good things, Your Highness," I answered, a bit dryly. She chuckled.

"Yes, all good things. You've done an excellent job ferrying people away from . . . your brother, I believe it is."

"That's the one."

Yeah, "the one" all right. "The Rodent." "The _Aruetyc_ Rodent." Boba Fett, scum of the 'verse, Force help him. And by that I mean "Force help him when Chev and I finally get our hands on him." After all, there comes a point where evil has to be eliminated _even _if that evil is a relative. Sorry, folks, but that's the honest truth. Anyway, Leia motioned to the table as she sat back down, and Chev and I slid into the pair of seats across from her. Chev dragged out his 'pad as Leia folded her hands on the table top and looked steadily at us.

"I'm told you two have some important information for us."

"He does," I answered, nodding to Chev. She raised a brow.

"I see. Then perhaps we should get to it."

She pulled up a holo-recorder to make a record of the meeting, and Chev brought up a blank screen on the datapad. I glanced at him, then turned to Leia. It was going to be awkward if she didn't know about Chev's . . . _disability_ beforehand.

"Ma'am, before we get started, there's something you need to know," I said, taking a breath. "Chev here is . . . mute, to put it tactfully."

That went over like a two-ton load of durasteel. Leia immediately got this look of "We're screwed" on her face, and I saw Chev just barely avoid rolling his eyes. She glanced over at him; he pretended to be very deeply interested in his datapad. I almost didn't stifle my chuckle of wry amusement. Leia stammered for a moment, trying to find the most tasteful way of getting around this, and only then did I allow myself a small smile.

"He communicates by datapad," I explained. Chev shook his head a bit, grinning faintly as if the good princess's awkward moment had really tickled him. Leia looked immediately relieved. "He types up what he wants to say, folks read it off. But we're hoping to get the damage repaired if we can find a good enough doctor."

That, _ner vode_, was a hint. A very _big_ hint. A krayt dragon-sized hint. I willingly admit that I was trying to see if the Rebel doctors and med droids were skilled enough to fix slit vocal cords. Leia didn't say anything at first; that got my eyebrow to rise. After a moment, she went "Hm" and tapped her index fingers together.

"So it isn't a congenital condition? Hmm . . ." She looked at Chev. "What happened, do you mind?"

I glanced over at Chev. His faintly amused little smirk was gone and he was completely serious now. Part of my Protective Female Bear Complex kicked up as I reached over and touched his arm.

"Do you?"

He didn't shake his head, but he didn't nod, either. Instead, he just let out a long-held breath and quickly typed something on the 'pad. I glanced over and saw that he was typing up the condensed version of what had happened to him; and by "condensed," I mean he got it done in two paragraphs. Just think how short the story of my life would be if I chopped it down to two paragraphs. Whew. Anyway, he shoved the 'pad across the table to Leia, who picked it up and read it. Ten seconds later, she handed the 'pad back, seeming genuinely concerned but still diplomatic.

"I'm sorry to hear this, Chevron," she said gently. "I wonder if our medic droid could repair the damage, though."

While that was what I was hoping to hear, I didn't jump up and down and go "Oh, yes, please let us go see this miracle-working medic droid!" Instead, I just shifted in my seat and folded my own hands in front of me. Time to get down to business.

"We didn't come here seeking help, ma'am," I said firmly. "We came to volunteer. We heard that that Skywalker kid's got a big ol' bounty on his skull. My brother's a nasty hunter, as you know; we'd like to be the kid's bodyguards of sorts."

"I don't think _he'd_ think he'd need one," Leia said, and my first thought was "We're doomed."

"Look, Your Highness," I said, beginning to feel my patience run thin. "You let us guard your hotshot pilot, and Chev will share with you some Imperial secrets a thousand Bothans would have to die for."

It was, in fact, a very good bargain. They'd get secrets, we'd get a chance to send Boba to hell in his own hand basket. And guess what. Leia looked interested. So, Chev took the datapad and thunked out a new message before passing it back across the table. I, for one, was eager to know what juicy Imperial gossip my brilliant husband had garnered.

I BELIEVE YOU KNOW THAT DARTH VADER WAS PRESENT AT THE BATTLE OF YAVIN?

Leia nodded. I wanted to say "DUH!" I mean, everybody and his brother knew that Vader was at Yavin. It was on the HoloNet for a good while, followed by widely circulated Imp ads depicting Vader asking for every bounty hunter in the galaxy. And there you have it folks: adequate reason for us to want to be in there body-guarding Skywalker. Wouldn't you hire us if you were the Rebels? I thought so.

"Of course," Leia answered. "He very nearly shot Luke out of the sky."

Luke? Who in heck was Luke? Unless . . . Leia looked at me.

"You'll know him better as our star pilot."

Ah. That explained it. Luke Skywalker. Hmm. I silently repeated the name to myself a few times; he certainly didn't sound like anything special. Then again, folks can surprise you. I leveled Leia with a business-like look—well, _sarcastic glare_ might be a better choice of words.

"No," I replied, "we'd know him better as the kid who's got a major bounty on his head and whose butt we want to protect."

Score! Leia nodded a bit.

"Point taken. Continue, please, Chevron."

AFTER VADER WAS SPUN OUT OF THE BATTLE, HE BEGAN A SEARCH FOR YOUR PILOT LUKE SKYWALKER. TELL ME, PRINCESS, YOU DO KNOW ABOUT ANAKIN SKYWALKER?

I arched a brow but said nothing. Where was Chev going with this? What had he learned on either _Executor_ or _Relentless_? How close had he been to Big, Black, and Scary himself to learn whatever he had? Leia sighed a bit; I got the impression that she didn't see where Chev was going with this, either. I also got the feeling that she was going to listen for only a little while longer if he didn't have good information.

"Barely," she said. "He must be of some relation to Luke, though."

_Exactly what I'm thinking, Princess,_ I thought.

"Let me clear it up for you," I said, deciding to give her an impromptu history lesson of an era which I knew so very well. "Let me clear it up for you. He was a Jedi commander and a hero of the Clone Wars. They called him the 'Hero With No Fear,' and he was pretty much the poster boy for the Wars and the Old Republic. The common folk loved him for his courage and outright daring. That help?"

Leia nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful.

"It'd explain why I've heard hardly anything of him," she said. "I was born just before the Clone Wars' end, and I was under the impression that he was killed during the Wars."

COMMANDER SKYWALKER WAS BORN AT THE SAME TIME, PRINCESS. WOULD YOU BE SURPRISED THAT I KNOW WHERE ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS?

I'd_ be surprised if you knew where he is,_ I thought to myself, growing extremely interested in this.

"Indeed!" Leia exclaimed. "If this _is_ Luke's father, it would be a great surprise to him. He's been thinking his father is dead."

Chev didn't make any response; he instead went back to his datapad, typing at it for a while. I leaned over and read along as he typed, and as soon as I saw the words written there, my breath left me in a whoosh. Both eyebrows shot sky-high.

"Surprise, _indeed_," I muttered, trying to wrap my mind around it.

Chev looked at me and sighed through his nose before finishing the message and passing the 'pad across to Leia.

IF YOU TURN ON THE HOLONET AND FIND DARTH VADER, YOU WILL ALSO FIND ANAKIN SKYWALKER.

Well, that _was_ a surprise—and a half. No, maybe there was enough of a shock factor there for _two_ surprises. And exactly two seconds after Leia picked up the 'pad, her eyebrows skyrocketed. I saw her jump a bit, and two more seconds passed as she stared at Chev in shock. Then she quickly excused herself and left the room, leaving Chev and me alone in the Kamino-like room. After I reached over and switched off the holo-recorder, I leaned back in my seat, studying Chev for a while. Not surprisingly, this was a great deal to try to comprehend. The way I heard it, the former hero of the Clone Wars was now the Emperor's kath hound _and_ Skywalker's dad. If I got that wrong, if there was something lost in translation, you tell me right now, all right? I'm serious! If I missed something, you all let me know!

"And you learned _all_ that just by hanging out with the Imps for a few weeks?" I asked Chev. He nodded slowly.

I WAS ONE OF HIS CLOSEST ADVISORS, ROGUE. I COULD GET INTO FILES THE AVERAGE TROOPER WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO ACCESS. I FOUND THINGS ABOUT THE BUILDING OF THE NEXT DEATH STAR. I EVEN ALTERED A WORK ORDER OR TWO TO TRY TO SLOW IT DOWN.

At this, I was left totally speechless. Floored. My Chev had been making more mischief than ten copies of Sevvie! I couldn't say anything for a good while, but I didn't really have to. Chev kept going. He glanced at the door Leia had left through as he exhaled heavily.

YOU THINK SHE DOESN'T BELIEVE ME?

"I don't know," I replied. "She might just be double-checking . . . But after all the security checks I had to go through to get us even docking permission, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't. I think it may be me, though. If you'll remember, I've got the ol' Fett emblem on the ship. They know the name because they've all heard of Boba. More than likely, they don't trust _me_."

IF SHE'S GOING TO LOOK US UP, THEN SHE'LL FIND WE'RE NO FRIENDS OF THE EMPIRE. IN FACT, WE MAY AS WELL UNOFFICIALLY JOIN.

"Then they'll let us keep that kid outta my brother's sights," I nodded.

I shrugged and patted Chev's arm just as Leia returned, looking quite pale but somehow managing to hold it together. "Whatever could she have found out during her little research trip?" I wondered. Note sarcasm. She slowly sat down at the table again, studying Chev as if wondering how he'd gotten his information. After a moment, she managed to get herself together enough to speak.

"I . . . You're right," she said. "How did you get this information?"

Chev paused a moment and bit his lip. I knew what was running through his mind; it was all right if he told _me_ how he'd gotten the info, but telling somebody else was like opening his entire mind. Who knew how vulnerable it'd leave him? Sure, he'd just told her that juicy little tidbit about Vader, but it was no doubt painful for him to admit he'd been at Vader's side for a couple of months. I reached over and squeezed his hand as he turned and slowly typed up his answer.

I . . . I WAS ONE OF HIS TRUSTED CONFIDANTS. OF COURSE, HE WAS MAD WHEN HE FOUND OUT I HAD TRIED TO SABOTAGE THE SECOND DEATH STAR . . .

He smiled a bit ironically and almost a bit painfully as he handed the 'pad to Leia again. She looked at it and then at him, and she tried to hold back a smile even though one sneaked out anyway.

"Tried to sabotage the Death Star?" She seemed almost disbelieving. And me? Well, I almost wondered why she wasn't freaking out over news of a second Death Star. Then I remembered that Lae had called her up about it as we escaped _Executor_ way back when. Miss Princess here probably had spies all over trying to figure out some way to take the blasted thing down. "My goodness . . . Then I guess you really aren't friends to the Empire."

"I should say _not_," I scoffed, feeling insulted. I _knew_ she hadn't believed us just because of our last name! "Now, will we get to safeguard your hotshot pilot?"

"I don't know . . ." Leia said slowly, looking pensive. "Perhaps . . ."

Well, I'd had enough. Chev and I were the best damn hunt saboteurs in the galaxy, and here she was hesitating at our offer to protect the Rebels' star pilot. If anything, she should've been leaping at the opportunity. You know what I would've liked to have heard? "Oh, yes, of course you may! We don't want anything to happen to him, and we know that you two are the greatest, most reliable saboteurs in the business!" And hey, there may be a little vanity in there, but for the most part, that whole "best saboteurs" title is fact. But _noooo_ . . . I sighed, rolling my eyes and leaning across the table, crossing my arms underneath me. I was sick and tired of not being trusted just because my brother was disgracing the family name on any given planet at any given time. This was the last straw.

"You don't trust me, do you?" I hissed, tone icy as I'd learned from _Jang'buir_ so long ago. But there was also a hint of irritation in my voice, too. "Listen, I want to keep the kid safe. Why? Because my _brother_ is the worst, nastiest bounty hunter this galaxy's known since our father was around. That punk will stop at nothing to collect the price on your little flyboy's head."

"Yes, perhaps, but are you _certain_ of that?" Leia asked. I pounded my fist against the table, grateful I'd shut the holo-recorder off.

"Are you brain dead?! This is BOBA FETT we're talking about! THE one and only!"

Leia nodded with something of an "Oh" attitude. I wanted to shake her and scream "Well, DUH!" at her. I could not believe how this girl had the power she did, being so seemingly _clueless_. Not to mention that it was unbelievable how prejudiced she was against the Fetts just because my father had been less-than-perfect and my brother was a _shabuir_. And then I couldn't understand how Larra and her brood tolerated this woman. Then again, Lar had probably proved time and again how trustworthy and reliable she was. I didn't think it was fair to make me prove my good intentions, but if that was what it took, then so be it. Beside me, Chev rolled his shoulders in irritation before thundering away at the datapad and then tossing it to Leia.

AND MY SISTER AND BEST FRIEND? LARRA FETT, ONE OF THREE OTHER MANDALORIAN JEDI. LARRA IS PART OF THE BEST COMMANDO TEAM IN THE GALAXY, AND YOU HAVE THEM ON YOUR SIDE. I SAY YOU TRUST US.

I nodded emphatically. You tell 'em, _Chev'ika_! But I was getting ready to hop up and go "Fine, you've got your information but wouldn't hold to the bargain. We're leaving." Leia seemed shocked that we were so totally serious, but I just kept telling myself that if she were _really_ as smart as everyone claimed, she would take us on. She'd trust us. After all . . . she was trusting Larra. And Larra was far more prone to Mando-style violence. That's my sister! Ahem. A few tense seconds went by before Leia sighed and nodded. Victory was ours, so to speak.

"I have to trust you," she said. "You've already passed every security measure, and even the higher-ups approve you. Your records look completely clean, and he even tried to sabotage the Death Star _itself_."

"Well, I thought you'd see reason," I sighed, leaning back. "Do we get to meet your little hotshot now?"

"He's out right now on assignment," came the answer; great, "but if you'll follow me, we've gotten a room prepared for you. It isn't much; barely bigger than a very small barracks, but it should be suitable."

I glanced over at Chev. Well, here we were. We'd gotten this far and now they were housing us when we could just as soon sleep out in our ship. With a single, silent raise of both brows, I asked if this was all right. He nodded and slowly stood, but being the gentleman he is, allowed Leia and me to leave first. Leia led the way through the cruiser's stark white halls (I hoped our barracks would be more colorful), and I couldn't help but notice all the strange looks on which Chev and I kept ending up on the receiving end. I suppose we three _were_ an unusual sight; after all, what was a woman in Mando armor and a man in Imperial-grade armor doing with the princess of the asteroid field that used to be Alderaan? I tried to ignore it because, well, if we kept their prized pilot Skywalker safe, then we'd be valuable to them. Eventually, we ended up in the barracks block on practically the opposite side of the ship, and Leia led us to a vacant room down at the farthest end of the block. When we got there, she opened the door and let us in, handing us the keycard so we could come and go as we pleased. Chev and I walked on in, looking around. Leia followed a moment and stood in the doorway as we inspected what seemed like our new home base.

"Is this all right?" she asked. "It hasn't been occupied in several months."

_Explains the layer of dust on the view port,_ I thought sarcastically.

"It'll be okay," I answered, but then I looked around again and shivered slightly. "It's a bit . . . sterile-looking . . . Should I blame the interior decorator?"

At this, Leia actually _smiled_. I hadn't expected that. And what's more is that she actually _laughed_, too. Good thing, because I was beginning to wonder if there was a human under that diplomatic exterior. I chuckled and slung our knapsacks (I'd had them with me the whole time) onto the bunk which looked barely big enough for two. Leia looked at Chev.

"Do you find this satisfactory?" she asked him, ever concerned for her mute source of extremely confidential Imperial secrets.

BIT LIKE KAMINO FOR MY LIKING . . . BUT I'LL MANAGE.

"Exactly what I was thinking," I murmured.

I patted his arm and nodded to Leia in something of a subtle hint to leave us for now. She took that hint and very tastefully backed out of the doorway.

"We'll contact you on the intercom when Luke gets back," she said. "There's a datapad with a map of the ship in the bedside table, and the mess hall's open almost all day. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Then she bid us goodbye and left, the door hissing shut behind her. I sighed, hunching my shoulders forward and giving the room another visual once-over.

"Seriously, would it kill them to put some curtains or flowers or _something_ to make it look less like a mental institution?!"

Chev nodded in whole-hearted agreement.

OR LESS LIKE KAMINO. TRUST ME, THAT ALONE IS A TAD UNCOMFORTABLE, PERSONALLY.

"I know _exactly_ what you mean," I sighed. "But I guess we've just got to remember the good things that happened there, right?"

Just thinking about those "good things" made me smile, so I went to his side and kissed his cheek before I patted his shoulder and headed for my knapsack. From it I dug out my civvies, holding them up.

"I'm gettin' out of my armor for a little bit," I told him, then held up his knapsack in my other hand. "How 'bout you?"

Chev beamed and nodded, taking his knapsack as I scampered into the 'fresher to change. As soon as I came out, he was already changed into his more comfortable civvies, but even with that he had strapped his gauntlet's datapad back onto his wrist. Then he gave me a thumbs-up, grinning at me. I chuckled and rolled my shoulders back; oh, it felt so _good_ to be out of my armor again. I always felt so much freer in civvies, and after fluffing my hair with my fingers, I sank onto the bed, feeling a bit sleepy. It _had_ been a long day, anyway. Then again, being pregnant might've had something to do with it. But I realized, as I sat down, that the bed wasn't too bad. In fact . . . it was kind of comfy. I looked up at Chev, who was prodding it.

"This isn't too bad," I said, lying down and curling up. "Not too hard."

Chev grinned and slid down beside me, and I rolled over so I could face him. He wrapped his arms around my waist as I cradled his face in both my hands. I sighed as I looked at him.

"Here we are," I whispered. "I guess if we made it this far then we can do anything."

He nodded, reaching up and gently touching my face before softly kissing me. Then he kissed me again—a little harder this time. And then again. And I began to wonder where this was headed even though I was certain I already knew. . . He pulled me closer, his arms tight around my waist, but then he suddenly recoiled, an expression nearing shock on his face. I wondered what was going on, but then I felt the pressure of his hand against my abdomen. I swallowed hard as he hurriedly typed up a message.

ROGUE, WHAT'S GOING ON?

Well, I guess I'd hoped to wait a while, but . . . he'd already felt the growing bump that was our child. If he hadn't instantly figured it out, he soon would. I sighed and closed my eyes before looking straight at him, gently stroking his hair.

"I'd hoped I'd be able to wait a little longer, maybe until we . . . we got your voice back," I said quietly. Then a smile flickered across my face as I put a hand against his cheek. "Chev . . . _cyar'ika_ . . . you're gonna be a daddy."

In that instant, every emotion known to humankind flashed across his face. His eyes went wide as a joyful glow came to them, and a broad grin spread out across his lips. I knew that if he'd been able, he would've laughed, but then his excitement faded as I saw worry dull the happiness in his dark eyes. Uh oh. And worry was soon supplanted by fear. His eyebrows crashed together, making creases across his forehead, and his grasp on my waist became more protective. And then . . .

_RO'IKA_, ARE YOU SURE? ARE YOU SURE THIS IS SAFE? I MEAN, I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU . . .

I sighed and gently stroked his face, still lying on my side and facing him. Deep down, I was relieved that he finally knew. I hadn't liked keeping that from him. But I didn't want him to worry over me and our baby; I guess that's why I _had_ kept the news from him: so he _wouldn't_ worry. After all, he could be prone to that because he and I had had so many close calls with losing each other. And hey, I can count the number of times that I've been away from him _on one hand_.

"Yes, I'm sure," I said. "I'm still healthy and strong even though I'm probably not as young as I used to be. It'll be all right, Chev. You won't lose me, and instead, you'll gain a strapping youngster. Don't think I didn't see the way you interacted with Lae and Trent and that look in your eyes. I know this is what you've always wanted."

I took his hand and put it against my middle, taking a deep breath. Great; now he'd gotten _me_ scared! My brain was already doing the calculations; if I got hurt, I had a good chance of miscarrying. Heck, as it was, I already had a greater chance of that than women half my age! But as I'd told him, I was still strong and healthy, and there was no way in the galaxy that I'd screw this up. No way would I _ever_ compromise our finally starting a family. He seemed somewhat relieved as what I told him sunk in, but he still pulled me nearer and tucked me under his chin. I closed my eyes and nestled into his broad shoulder, wrapping my arms around him. I felt his chest expand with a sigh, and I couldn't help but sigh myself as something of a maternal instinct bubbled up inside me.

"Everything's gonna work out fine," I told him. "I won't do anything stupid enough to risk this child, Chev. And hey. Just on my gut feeling, I bet you a handful of credits that it's going to be the handsomest son in the galaxy."

At that, Chev pulled back and looked at me, eyebrows sky-high. I saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes; he liked the sound of that. Or maybe he was asking me how I knew. Well, I didn't. I hadn't been to Keldabe for any of my appointments, and I certainly hadn't been in to find out the baby's gender. For all I knew, there could be a little girl tucked up inside of me, but I had no way of knowing at the moment, and I certainly didn't want to dim Chev's hope that he was going to have a son. He just hugged me close, kissing my forehead. I knew he was happy; he didn't have to pull out his datapad to tell me because I could feel it. His enthusiasm for our child radiated off of him in waves, and I just grinned to myself as I snuggled into his embrace.


	17. Surprise

**Chapter Sixteen – Surprise**

Leia was standing in one of the _Home One_'s multiple hangars, waiting for Luke to return. He had sent a comm message not too long ago explaining that his mission had gone off without a hitch and that he would be returning shortly. She hadn't told him of the two Mandalorians upstairs in the barracks block; she'd get to that in due time. She sighed, checked the chrono on the hangar wall, and rubbed her left elbow with her right hand. Even she was prone sometimes to impatience, but she didn't have to wait much longer. A single, battle-scarred X-wing eased into the hangar, setting down lightly on its landing struts. The canopy slid back, and out jumped Luke, clad in the orange flight suits typical of X-wing pilots. He wrenched off his helmet and tossed it into the cockpit, shaking out his shaggy blond hair. A blue astromech droid dropped out of the X-wing, beeping and whistling madly. Luke laughed as it continued to chirp quite emphatically, and he patted the droid once before it raced off across the hangar. Luke shook his head, blue eyes sparkling with an internal grin, as he pulled off his flight suit and tossed it into his cubby hole on the far wall. It took him another minute or two to reach Leia, and when he did, he grinned at her.

"Hey, I hadn't expected a welcoming committee after _that_ milk run."

Leia allowed herself a faint smile.

"I'm not a committee. But I'm glad you're back; there's something I needed to discuss with you."

"I'm not sure if that tone means I should be afraid or not . . ."

He chuckled good-naturedly before glancing to the side and catching sight of the adjoining hangar bay in which the _Chevron_ was docked.

"Don't tell me Han ditched the _Falcon_ . . ." He shook his head in disbelief before turning back to Leia. "All right, I know Han would never sell that bucket, so who's that one belong to?"

"Your new bodyguards, it would seem," Leia answered.

She waited for the explosion. There wasn't one; Luke was naturally a mellow young man. But both of his eyebrows shot toward the ceiling as his hands went to his hips and he turned to stare fully at the old freighter. He shook his head, sighing thinly.

"Oh, for Force's sake, Leia . . . You _know_ I don't need bodyguards . . . Force!"

"I know," came Leia's reply, though she _did_ like the thought of someone looking after Luke's welfare, "but you should at least talk to them. They came a long way to volunteer, so I think we ought to extend them that courtesy."

Luke sighed and shrugged noncommittally; his thought more than likely was "If I must, I must." Apparently he considered himself able to fend for himself, as it were; he hadn't run into any trouble yet, and he doubted there would be any. As far as he was concerned, the widespread rumors of Vader's threats were simply that: the rumors of one who was full of little more than hot air. But he nodded an affirmative, and Leia lead him up through the winding corridors toward the barracks block. Eventually, they arrived at the farthest end of the block, and it was there that Leia knocked on the most forlorn-looking of the doors. From within was a slight shuffling and perhaps faint groaning. Leia knocked again.

* * *

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," I moaned, forcing my eyes open and trying to climb out of bed. Between Chev's arms staying entangled around me like a pair of dead weights and my own unwillingness to get up in the first place, it was quite the difficult thing to accomplish. "Oh, just hold your horses already . . ."

Eventually, I got up, neatened my hair and straightened my tunic, and only then did I even dare to open the door. Chev was still blissfully asleep. I was trying not to look sleepy-eyed. I just sighed and opened the door, and found to my surprise that Leia was standing there, and at her side stood a young-ish fellow, mid-twenties, I guessed. Blond hair, blue eyes, lightsaber on his hip . . . Wait a second. _Lightsaber?!_ Holy _osik_. These little Jedi were popping up all over the _shabla oyu'baat_! I found myself staring at the _jetii'kad_ the boy carried, but then Leia cleared her throat and my gaze shot to her face.

"You said you'd comm us," I said, stifling a yawn. I didn't wait for an apology (though I heard one) before I pointed at the boy. "This the little hotshot?"

"Sure am," he replied, sticking out his hand. "The name's Luke. Luke Skywalker."

I took his hand and gave it a firm shake, nodding a bit. So, this was the little squirt that had blown up the Death Star and sent the Empire into a tizzy? Well, I had to admit, he certainly didn't look like much, but then again, I figured that if he carried a freaking _lightsaber_, he was okay. And, heck, if I'd known he had a lightsaber, I wouldn't have volunteered to play bodyguard. But I wasn't about to back out now.

"Rogue Fett," I said, introducing myself. And, yep, his eyebrows skyrocketed at the mention of my last name. He turned and nearly complained to Leia; she shut him up. I pretended not to notice. "You can call me Rogue, though. I don't like what my last name's come to be equated with. 'Scuse me one second . . . gotta get Chev up . . . Poor guy hasn't slept well in ages."

I turned around and headed back into the room, walking over to the bed and lightly prodding at Chev. Leia and Skywalker came in behind me, and as the door hissed shut, I heard Leia giving the kid a brief overview of the nice, shiny personal records Chev and I had. Anti-Empire, pro-Rebel Alliance—that's us! Pro-_Mando'ade_, too, but hey. You already knew that. Anyway, I nudged Chev just a little longer before his eyes flickered open and he looked up at me. Heavens, the man wakes up quickly. You'd think he slept on adrenaline. I remember who else was a light sleeper, too: _Jang'buir_. But that was a long time ago (I'm certain there's little more in his armor now than dust) and highly irrelevant to the current situation. Anyhow, Chev's gaze locked onto Leia and Skywalker before he turned to me, one eyebrow arched in question.

"Visitors," I said, motioning to our guests as Chev shoved himself up. "Princess and hotshot pilot boy."

"I'm twenty-three," came Skywalker's somewhat miffed reply. I turned and just looked at him with faint amusement.

"Lovely. I used to be, too."

"Can we please cut the sarcasm?" Leia sighed. "This was supposed to be a _friendly_ visit."

Chev sat up and looked over at Skywalker, studying the boy for a long moment before half-heartedly lifting and dropping a shoulder: his way of saying "If I have to." I chuckled and patted his shoulder.

"Aw, now, Chev, I bet he ain't as bad as he looks."

I turned and looked at Skywalker and Leia, dropping into a more business-like mindset.

"You'll have to forgive him," I continued. "It was mostly my idea to come and volunteer to serve as your bodyguards."

"Which, I tell you now, I _don't need_."

My eyebrow went up at Skywalker's little reply, and I just looked at him for a moment, head tilted slightly, before I finally answered. My, my, this kid certainly was self-assured. Back where I come from, they call that _cocky_.

"Oh, I'm sure you don't _need_ one, but if my brother's after you, you're gonna _want_ one. Ever heard of him? Boba Fett? Nasty fellow. It's a shame he used to be quite adorable . . . if a wet rat can be adorable."

And five, four, three, two, one . . . Boom. Skywalker's eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. Oh, so he _had_ heard of The Rodent.

"Boba Fett's your _brother_?! Leia—!"

"It's all right," Leia assured him. He didn't look so sure. "We've double- and triple-checked their backgrounds. All clean. Besides, you've heard of Delta Squad? Larra's their best friend."

Well, it was about time somebody made mention that Lar was our closest friend! I nodded and crossed my arms.

"Sister of sorts, if you wanna get specific."

Skywalker didn't make any reply to that. Instead, his gaze latched onto Chev. He nodded at him, just watching. Suddenly, he didn't seem quite so unnecessarily cocky.

"He doesn't say a whole lot," he murmured. My stomach turned a somersault.

"Would you if you were just awakened?" I asked. Hello Protective Female Bear Complex. This was the line of questioning that got Boss in hot water.

Chev just handled the awkward situation like a pro. He casually tugged his collar up around his neck, hiding the scar and quirking an eyebrow upward in a "What're you starin' at?" fashion. Skywalker shrugged.

"Nothin'," he replied. Another stomach somersault. "Just curious, is all."

At that, I wheeled around, staring hard at him. Now my stomach was flopping like a beached fish, my heart was racing, head spinning. He _couldn't_ . . . He _hadn't_ . . . Had he?

_Keep it cool, Rogue,_ I thought. _Just keep it together. This is just a joke. The kid _can't_ read Chev's mind!_

"What in hell are you talking about, Skywalker?" I asked, keeping my voice level.

"Um, nothing?"

I could've sworn I saw a thin layer of sweat pop up on his brow. I took a step closer to him, glaring at him. I wanted answers, and I wanted them _now_. This was stubbornness, Rogue Fett style. And, well, it was also survival. Whatever it took, nothing would _ever_ change with Chev and me. Ever. I put my hands on my tips.

"Kid, spill it. _Now._"

"Fine, okay," Skywalker muttered, hands up. "He asked what I was looking at."

In that moment, my eyes widened to saucer size as one word came to my mind: _no_. Apparently, he really _could_ read Chev's mind . . . and let me tell you, I was _not_ happy about that. It sparked something within me that I hadn't expected: jealousy. After all, we were supposed to protect this kid, and he was _not_ to interfere in our personal life. That meant he would never be told about my pregnancy, nor was he supposed to read Chev's mind! My fists clenched, and, still sitting on the bed, Chev jumped with surprise. He seemed to be almost concentrating, and a moment later, Skywalker shrugged.

"My father was," he said. "I was training a little before my . . . mentor was killed."

I blinked, then _stared_. Had Chev asked him if he were a Jedi? What the _fierfek_ was going on here?! My mind was spinning as I was trying to grapple with this sudden development. Beside Skywalker, Leia seemed just as shocked. I looked straight at her.

"Sweet Force, how long has this kid been a freaking mind-reader?!"

"I hadn't thought . . ." she stammered.

She shook her head, meaning she didn't understand it, either. Skywalker seemed to blush a bit as Chev's eyes went wide—wider than mine. Then he tapped away at his wrist datapad, holding it up.

THIS IS UNREAL! LAR CAN'T DO THIS . . . _FIERFEK!_

I took one glance at the 'pad before looking back at Skywalker, crossing my arms. My first, and therefore relatively incoherent, thought was to shove him out of the room and lock the door. As far as I was concerned, he had no right to be able to communicate with Chev in a way that I couldn't. And no, I couldn't just accept this. I've never been good at "just accepting" _anything_. I'm prone to _fighting_.

"No, she can't," I said, shaking my head. I sat down heavily next to Chev, trying to calm my spinning head and flip-flopping stomach. "Kid, you really are more than you appear to be. That datapad's been the only way I've been able to communicate with him. Does it work both ways?"

And while I sounded concerned and perhaps even enthusiastic about this, I most certainly was _not_. If it worked both ways, I was not going to be a happy camper. I didn't _want_ it to work both ways. The bond between husband and wife is perhaps the strongest known to mankind, and I didn't want it to be supplanted by some crazy telepathic one between husband and total stranger.

"I doubt it," Skywalker replied, smiling apologetically at Chev. "He'd probably have to have some Jedi training, too."

Chev's eyebrows skyrocketed, and in that instant, my heart sank as I remembered something Lae had said when she, Trent, and I had come home after _Executor_: _"He used the Force to bluff Vader."_ I swallowed hard. My Chev was _not_ Jedi material . . . He _couldn't_ be! Chev typed two words on his 'pad; they were an indication of his shock.

SHUT UP!

I nodded; this was "shut up" in the "Holy _osik_, are you serious?!" form. Chev and I pretty much stared at Skywalker for a nice long time; we must've been embarrassing him a little because his face reddened, but—and don't tell anyone—I didn't care. But Leia recovered the situation, looking back and forth between Chev and Skywalker.

"But can he read _your_ thoughts, Luke?" she asked. "It would be interesting to see if he could . . ."

"I don't know," Skywalker said, looking at Chev. "I could try, though. You okay with that?"

Chev nodded slowly, and I slid closer to him, definitely getting into a bit of a protective stance even though I was sitting. No way was I gonna allow things to change. I knew it sounded childish and selfish, but as history has proved, I'm _not_ a big fan of change. Skywalker sighed a bit before nodding faintly. Then he looked hard at Chev, took a breath, and seemed to be concentrating. A moment later, my stomach turned a somersault as Chev jumped, almost in fright, before typing madly at his datapad. Then he held it up, and I noticed that he was shaking.

THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPED OVER THE LAZY DOG.

Then he typed again, adding his own sentiments.

HOLY FRACK.

I took one look at that 'pad before I turned on Skywalker. My eyes narrowed even though I was trying not to be obvious.

"Did you tell him to write this?" I asked, almost accusingly.

Skywalker nodded hesitantly, and I swear, Leia nearly lost her balance. I nearly fell off the bed. Now I felt as though I were in for it. My husband could telepathically communicate with this kid, and I . . . well, if it's possible to feel dead to the Force, then I sure did. Leia's eyes were wide, not saucer-size, but still big enough to convey surprise.

"I didn't even know this was possible," she marveled.

"Me neither," Skywalker admitted, his face flushing a bit.

I looked down at Chev's 'pad again. So what if I felt as though I had absolutely no Force abilities whatsoever? I could still try . . . right? Besides, a telepathic comlink would do wonders for sharing private thoughts . . . until Skywalker came along and "heard."

"Wouldn't it be great if I could do this with him, too?" I asked, putting on some measure of enthusiasm. Skywalker nodded. Chev squeezed my hand.

"Sure it would," Skywalker said. "Except . . . well, I just doubt that you could. My father was a Jedi, and I hope to be one too . . . I think that's how I can do this. But I can't explain how he can."

Chev's face took on a look of concentration, but it melted as he typed at his datapad again. I knew that I'd have to learn to recognize that look as his "I'm sending thoughts to the kid" face. I felt my stomach tighten, and it wasn't morning sickness. Then Chev held up his wrist.

MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I KNOW A JEDI: LARRA. I'VE KNOWN HER MOST OF MY LIFE.

_You've known her _all _your life,_ I thought.

Skywalker nodded thoughtfully and, I noticed, without even taking a single look at Chev's 'pad. This kid was intent upon making my life miserable, wasn't he?! I chewed at my lip.

_Keep it together, Rogue. You're better than this. You're a way better master of your emotions than this wimp who's getting a hold on you._

"I guess that's possible," Skywalker said. "I certainly don't know everything, though, and there really aren't anymore Jedi to just call up and ask."

I sort of blanked out for a moment as Leia piped up about calling Larra and asking her. I was just . . . shell-shocked, really. Chev—_my_ Chev—an average ARC captain—could communicate telepathically with someone that was most definitely _not_ me. And what made it worse was that I couldn't do one darn thing about it. I couldn't talk to Chev like that, and, frankly, it made me feel left out. So I just sat there, sort of thinking, mostly zoned out, until I felt the pressure of Chev's hand around mine. I looked up and found him gazing concernedly at me . . . as if he knew what I was feeling. He typed a bit before holding it up.

YOU KNOW THAT JUST BECAUSE OF THIS I'M NOT GOING TO CHANGE DRASTICALLY. I STILL LOVE YOU. I SWORE I ALWAYS WOULD.

Oh, _why_ did he have to touch that part of me? Why did he have to say that . . . ? I sighed, trying to blink normally and yet fast enough to keep back the tears. I sighed and nodded, nestling into his arm and whispering into his ear.

"I . . . I know. I'm just a little . . . scared, is all."

Scared, shaking like a leaf, feeling as if my private life had been violated by a mere kid . . . Yeah, you name it, I was it. I tilted my head, looking steadily up at Chev. After a moment, Leia calmly cleared her throat. I turned and glanced at her.

"Should we leave you two alone?" she asked.

"Up to Chev, I guess," I shrugged, even though I was silently begging her to get the hell _out_. Chev typed quickly.

I DON'T KNOW. JUST A BIT OF TIME TO GET OVER THIS, GET SETTLED . . . WE CAN DEAL WITH THIS A BIT LATER.

"Then I guess we could go," Leia said, and I was grateful. "You're both probably tired after your trip here, anyway."

"Yeah, guess we are," I murmured.

She soon bid us goodbye and left, and Skywalker followed shortly after, having first shaken Chev's hand. As soon as they were gone and the door had hissed shut behind them, I exhaled heavily and flopped back onto the bed, landing on the pillows. It was quiet in the room for a long time as I just lay there, tracing circles on my middle. After a moment, the mattress squished to one side as Chev sat down beside me, and I sat up on my elbows.

"This makes me uncomfortable," I said, trying to stay calm. It wasn't working. At least, I didn't _think _it was working because I didn't feel any calmer. "I don't _want_ things to change."

Chev reached over and squeezed both my hands, dark eyes gazing mournfully at me. I felt a lump rise in my throat; had I hurt him by being so . . . self-centered, by only worrying about how this would affect _me_? He just looked at me for the longest time before he released my hands and tapped at his datapad.

I'M NOT GOING TO CHANGE. IT'S JUST SOMETHING ELSE I CAN DO. I SUPPOSE WE CAN TRY AND SEE IF I CAN SEND THOUGHTS TO YOU . . .

"I'm afraid it won't be what we're hoping for," I sighed. "I'm like a doornail: dead to the Force, I guess. I'm no Jedi; never have been, more'n likely never will be."

I sat up, leaned over, and wrapped my arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It was a combination of his aftershave lotion and the soap Larra and I both used to wash clothes. He held me close, smoothing my hair and kissing my neck. I closed my eyes and clung to him for the longest time; I really had to get over my issues. Eventually, I sat back and looked at him, holding his face in my hands.

"This is about you and not me, though," I whispered. "We'll think of you first and everything about me will follow after."

He nodded a bit, gazing at me, and I bit my lip. He reached out and stroked my face, and I sighed heavily as I threw my arms around his neck again and buried my face in his shoulder. I didn't want to be selfish anymore; I wanted _him_ to be happy, and I knew that if he were, I would be too. That was just how it always worked. I took a shaky breath.

"Oh, Force, Chev . . . I love you."

He nodded before gently pushing my back and taking my face in his hands. Then he pressed his forehead to mine as if . . . as if trying to talk to me without typing, without words . . . with his thoughts. Tears started running down my face as he held his face to mine; I knew he wouldn't find what he wanted to find. After a moment, he looked at me, and his shoulders heaved in an exaggerated sigh as he shook his head. He didn't even need to type on his datapad to make me understand. I just looked at him, still silently crying.

"I knew it wouldn't work," I said, sniffling faintly. "I wasn't made like that, I guess."

But, the thing was, I _wanted_ to have been made like that. Force, why couldn't my biological mother or father have been some sort of Jedi?! Why did I have to end up so totally deadened to the Force when Chev was somehow tapping into it and using it to communicate with Skywalker?! But I had to still be tough because this _was_ Chev's gift, anyway. I offered a tiny smile.

"It's your gift," I told him, "whether or not I can do the same things as you. Maybe you and that Skywalker kid can find some way to use it to all our advantages."

I DON'T _WANT_ TO BE ABLE TO DO THIS, THOUGH. I'D RATHER HAVE THIS GOING ON WITH LAR THAN SOME KID WHO CAN FLY CIRCLES AROUND ME.

Well, that was surprising. I had expected him to be _happy_ about that gift, not despising its existence. Or maybe he didn't consider it a gift. I sighed.

"That would be helpful. But how are we to know that Lar can't do this with you, too? How do we know that it's not just something we haven't discovered yet?"

WE DON'T. THAT'S THE PROBLEM.

He sighed silently, looking steadily at me. And for the first time, I realized that there was pain in his eyes. Sorrow. Agony. He was hurting. I mentally cursed the galaxy for leveling him with such an enormous _osik_ storm. He didn't deserve all the garbage that had been heaped on him over the years.

I WISH THIS HADN'T HAPPENED TO ME. I HATE NOT BEING ABLE TO SPEAK MY MIND INSTEAD OF WRITING IT OR HAVING IT READ!

I bit my lip. My poor, poor _cyar'ika_ . . .

"I know," I sighed, looking away for a moment. "You know what I miss? Hearing you _say_ you love me."

Chev's eyes flashed in such a way that I could tell he knew exactly what I meant. We hadn't truly been together since he'd gotten back, if you know what I mean. But not being able to hear your husband whisper sweet nothings kind of kills that mood, y'know? But I saw the misery in his eyes, and I knew I'd messed up. So I reached over and smoothed his hair, offering my best attempt at a comforting smile.

"We'll get your voice back, _Chev'ika_," I said. "I swear it: _haat, ijaa, haa'it_."

He nodded slowly and tenderly stroked my face. I'll tell you what, that took me back a ways, just like it did every time he ever touched my cheek. But it wasn't like it was a bad mental excursion; I was seventeen and he was twenty—in chronological years, anyway. It was ten biological years for him at that point. He'd been staring at me almost all day, and we'd gotten away alone to talk . . . I closed my eyes, smiling faintly to myself, and the next moment, I felt his lips on mine. At that point, I realized that I wasn't just reliving the past, and I softly kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck. We broke off after a moment and just hugged; I was nestled securely in his arms, my head tucked under his chin. I sighed as I held him as much as he was holding me; oh, my Chev. I've done my best not to fail you in the past; I won't fail you now.


	18. Going Out

**Chapter Seventeen – Going Out**

The next morning, I was awake before Chev was. There was a window in our room that gave a sweeping vista of the rest of the fleet as well as space, and I sat by it for a long time, just thinking. And, believe it or not, I started mulling over baby names. I know, I know: I had other things to be worrying about at the time, but I can't say as how any of them were more important. Maybe just . . . equally. But before I get to those equally important things, let me just tell you that I was beginning to have favorite names for either gender. Now that that's out of the way, we can think about other things. My primary objectives were getting Chev's voice back, keeping Skywalker out of mischief, and visiting Kal sometime. Then again, maybe Chev wouldn't want to go see Kal until he could speak again. Hmm. I hadn't really considered _that_ yet . . . I guessed there was only one way to really find out, and that was to show up at Kal's front door. I suppose I could've talked to Chev about it, but that would've killed the surprise element, after all. Oh, boy, was _this_ gettin' difficult . . .

I sat there by the window for a long time before two arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders. I looked back and found Chev there (though who else could it have been?), so I smiled at him. He smiled back and kissed my cheek before putting his chin on top of my head. I reached up and pressed my palm to his jaw, sighing a bit. Just his sudden presence reminded me of how he and Skywalker could communicate telepathically and I could only sit by and watch. I felt my heart clench at that; what good was a gift like that if it couldn't be used by those who needed it most? It wasn't fair . . . My shoulders slumped sadly. I knew Chev couldn't sense my thoughts, so he must've been reading my body language, because the next thing I heard was _tap_, _tap_, _tap_.

IT'S OKAY, _RO'IKA_. WE'LL THINK OF SOMETHING.

I took one look at that message and threw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over but getting my point across. My throat started to close, and I had to swallow twice as hard as normal to get past the lump there. The next minute, Chev was looking me in the eye, wiping tears off my face with his thumbs.

C'MON, _CYAR'IKA_, DON'T CRY. TEARS DON'T LOOK GOOD ON YOU.

I sniffled and nodded. Maternal hormones or no, I realized I had to stop crying so often. I wasn't used to shedding that many tears. I suppose you could say I'd cried more times since the _Executor_ incident than I had in my entire life. I'm just built tough (well, tough_er_) like that. I nodded again when Chev asked me if I was okay just by raising his eyebrows, and I was about to kiss him when there came a knock on the door. I sat back, grumbling under my breath. Some people always knew how to ruin moments . . . Chev exaggerated a sigh and ambled over to the door, mashing the controls. It slid open, and who should be out there but Skywalker. Brilliant. I smacked my forehead with my palm as he walked in, wearing an apologetic grin.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," he said. He glanced at Chev for a moment. "Oh, that's good."

_I wish you wouldn't do that . . ._ I thought

"Whaddaya want?" I sighed.

He eyed me a bit strangely. Chev just looked understanding. Then Skywalker took up a relaxed stance near the door, shrugging a bit.

"I wouldn't have come for you, but Leia insisted since you're supposed to be my bodyguards."

Chev arched an eyebrow in question. I slowly stood up, smoothing out my tunic. Were we about to go out for a while? Maybe see some more of the galaxy? Maybe see more than just the cold white interior of the _Home One_? That would be fun. Maybe, if we got a minute, Skywalker would take us to see Kal—or at least come with us while we paid the ol' sarge a visit. Sure, it would be on the Rebels' bill, but wouldn't they like to make their star pilot's bodyguards happy? Exactly! My, my, but you _do_ catch on quickly . . . I looked at Skywalker and sighed.

"Get to the point."

"Right. Well, I'm going on an assignment, and she insists you have to come along. And, well, she brought up that telepathy thing again . . ."

He sighed a bit, almost as if he didn't like the idea of being . . . connected to Chev like that any more than Chev did! Chev's shoulders heaved in a sigh, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my shin on his shoulder.

"What's this mission?" I asked. "Must be something during which you're gonna be in mortal danger; the princess wouldn't ask us to come along on a milk run."

"I wouldn't say it's mortally dangerous," Skywalker replied, "but I wouldn't say it's a milk run, either. It's just that we're sending a load of supplies out to one of our bases on the Rim, and some of my wingmen and I are going to escort it. And what with you two being my bodyguards, it's sort of necessary that you come."

I looked at Chev and he just shrugged. From the sounds of things, Leia was just a _little_ paranoid when it came to Skywalker; after all, who needs bodyguards when you're just delivering supplies? Oh, right, only the pilot most wanted by the Empire. I totally forgot. (Sarcasm much.) But this was what Chev and I had signed on to do, so we had no place to be complaining or whatever. I just nodded a bit, and Chev typed a message out on his datapad—for my sake, I knew.

HOW EXACTLY ARE WE GOING ON THIS ASSIGNMENT? I DON'T THINK TAKING OUR FRIEGHTER'S GOING TO HELP MUCH.

"And attract every Imp within six million light-years?" I scoffed. "Please."

"Already thought of that," Skywalker smiled. "Mind following me down to the hangars? Got a little somethin' I'd like to show you."

"Might as well," I shrugged. "After all, this is the Rebel fleet. It can't be a _nasty_ surprise."

Skywalker chuckled as he waved his hand a bit and motioned us out. We took a series of turbolifts until we ended up at the hangar bays, and when we got there, Skywalker led us to one in particular and opened the door to reveal three fighters that looks suspiciously like the old ARC-170s. I couldn't help but stare a bit as I thought about _my_ 170—the prototype, if you'll recall. Damn, I'm special. Ahem.

"Any particular reason that thing looks like an ARC-170?" I asked, not able to take my eyes off that thing. And what's more is that I wanted it—_bad_.

"Sure," Skywalker replied. "The X-wing design was based on it." He stole a glance at Chev, who looked a little wary of the fighter. "I read that's what ARCs used to fly . . ."

He smiled at Chev, and while it was a sweet thought and a nice gesture, his information was a little off. Not _all_ ARCs flew the 170s—just the pilots specifically trained to do so. But, as a rule, each ARC was required to spend a minimum number of hours in the cockpit just to learn the basics, so Chev had a basic knowledge of flying. Chev stared first at Skywalker, then at the X-wing, and then he tapped away at his datapad.

WELL, TRUE. BUT I NEVER GOT MUCH TIME IN THEM MYSELF. I DON'T FLY SO WELL.

And this, dear friends, is why he lets _me_ fly the _Chevron_ and why he trusts me not to drop us out of the sky. Maybe he had too much faith in my skills, I dunno, but we hadn't crashed yet!

"So not all the ARCs were pilots?" Skywalker asked. I chuckled to myself as I wandered over to one of the X-wings to inspect it closer.

"Afraid not," I replied, running my hand over the fuselage. Oh, this was just like old times! I could swear I'd look up and see thousands of clone troopers marching past. "But this is still sweet of you. Since there are three of them, I'm guessing we'll be flying them?"

"Yep," Skywalker nodded. "You and some of my Rogue Squadron wingmates."

I raised an eyebrow, smiling a bit. Now, I knew that squad wasn't named for me, but it was still funny. Skywalker must've noticed it, too, because he started laughing. Chev just grinned.

"Well, I for one think this is going to be fun," I said. "He may not have flown much, but _I_ flew the 170's prototype!"

I'll admit, I felt so freaking _awesome_ saying that, and what made it better was that Skywalker looked seriously impressed. I grinned and scrambled up the ladder, sliding into the cockpit to check things out. Instantly, I was in love, yet I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to my old 170. It'd no doubt been rusting on Geonosis for twenty-plus years. Part of me felt guilt for leaving it there, even if it _was_ in a mad, grieving rush; it would've been an excellent addition to a museum. I ran my hands over the controls, feeling love swell up in me. Yes, I loved a ship. So sue me! I looked down and found Chev and Skywalker standing beside the X-wing, gazing up at me and smiling a bit. I grinned down at them.

"This is beautiful, kid," I said to Skywalker. "Haven't flown a fighter like this in years, but it's all comin' back."

"Good to hear," Skywalker said, "because we're headin' out in a couple hours. Should give you enough time to get your gear together, and—oh, I almost forgot."

That didn't sound good.

"Leia wants you two down to medical for checkups."

I groaned internally. I _hated_ checkups. And why? Because nine times outta then, they involve needles, and Force knows I've had bad experiences with _those_. Call me crazy, but getting poked with needles full of stuff that wipe your memories clean away just didn't endear me to the Empire and/or sharp, pointy objects—except for my precious knife. If Chev had had his voice, I swear he would've groaned loud enough for both of us. He didn't like checkups, either. But he shrugged as I reluctantly clambered from the X-wing's cockpit, refraining from leaping out and deciding to take it easy on myself for once—yes, _for once_. I'm not prone to taking perfect care of myself; I'm an on-the-go sort of girl who stops only when she's sick or wounded. I know I'd have to slow down sometime for my baby's sake, but, well . . . it was kind of hard to see myself doing that.

But at Skywalker's pleading, Chev and I started off down to medbay, where two doctors came at us: one to look at Chev, the other to look at me. I got jittery at that; I would've preferred to be with Chev, after all. And I could tell, from the nervous looks he kept shooting me, that he felt the same way. Poor guy . . . His life had been so rough from day one, and he didn't deserve any of it.

The doctor assigned to me, a droid that seemed as unfeeling and programmed as most droids do, led me off down the hall to an examining room. I noticed, as I followed it, that the droid who had taken Chev was unnaturally human-like. That one (whose designation I later learned was 2-1B) was talking calmly with Chev, trying to put him at ease, seeming quite used to dealing with humans. But the droid _I_ got . . . Well, whoever programmed it to talk in a bored monotone needed to be shot. I was certain it had a medical database that was constantly being updated, but its people skills could've stood improvement. And that's not mentioning how kriffin' _cold_ its "hands" were . . . I actually made the darn thing heat them up so I wouldn't freeze to death! But its programming made it a capable med droid, and it _was_ gentle, all things—including the whole "Eeew, it's a _droid_" thing—considered.

But I was sitting there on the examining table, trying not to freak out over all the needles and over the fact that it had given me an immunization shot without so much as a warning. That in itself had made my skin crawl. Now all I wanted was to get my _shebs_ out of there, and pronto. But the droid returned, gliding back in on its repulsors, as it looked over a digital printout of a scan it'd taken of me. It looked me over before back at the scan.

"Did you know you are pregnant?" it asked in that grating tone. I rolled my eyes.

"Look, I'm _showing_ already! Of _course_ I know!"

_Di'kutla beskar'ad_. I swear, who built that thing?! It looked at me as if it didn't understand my sarcasm before consulting something that looked suspiciously like my medical records.

"Your history is showing a great amount of past stress," it continued. "Your lifestyle is currently not conducive to a healthy pregnancy."

"Is not _what_?" I asked. That _ordinii'la_ robot had to be kidding me! I'd been looking forward to motherhood for nearly two damn decades! "Whaddaya mean, 'not conducive'?"

"Conducive," it repeated. "Favorable. Advantageous. Beneficial."

"I _know_ what it means, _di'kut_!" I cried, waving my hands in frustration. "Explain what you meant by my lifestyle not being conducive to a healthy pregnancy!"

"Your habits show a possibility of harm or even death to the developing fetus," it went on, sounding so bored even though I knew it was just a machine. Maybe that was what made it so _weird_. "At this stage, any activities not made with the utmost caution could prove detrimental."

"_What_ habits?!" I barked. "I don't drink, I've never smoked a day in my life, and you better believe I get plenty of exercise! Running around after bounty marks to rescue them all day puts a person into shape, y'know!"

"That is my point precisely," the med droid replied. "You do not take enough rest. You do not hesitate to leap into the fray of combat. If you are not willing to alter your lifestyle long enough to deliver a healthy child, then I would suggest termination."

My eyes went wide as my jaw dropped, and for a moment, I think my heart might've stopped beating. That thing couldn't be serious . . . _Kill my baby?_ Just because I was prone to not taking it easy? As far as I was concerned, that wasn't _even_ an option. I'd waited my entire married life to be a mother; I wasn't going to give it up now just because I had trouble going slow! I put a protective hand on my middle and shook my head fiercely. Parenthood is so vital to _Mando'ade_ that I'm sure you can't even imagine my horror at that _di'kutla_ droid's suggestion. If I didn't give Chev his child, we might never get that opportunity again. Besides, I'd been waiting to hear a little voice call out to me with "_Buir!_" for so, so long—since the Wars, even! I kept shaking my head.

"I'll be good," I swore rapidly. "I'll take it easy, I promise. Just don't suggest . . . _that_."

"Termination?"

I winced.

"That."

Had the droid been able, I think it would've shrugged. But it just made me swear to take it easy, which I hurriedly did, before it sent me on my way with a clean bill of health. I scampered out of there as fast as I could, and outside in the main lobby of the medbay, I found Chev waiting for me. I grinned with relief when I saw him there, looking none the worse for wear. He stood and smiled at me, tapping at his datapad before coming to my side.

WELL?

"Good as gold," I told him. "Got a bit of a warning to slow down for a bit, but other than that, everything's shiny."

I decided I wouldn't tell him what that dumb-_shebs_ droid had suggested. I was certain that if I'd gotten that 2-1B, that option (which wasn't even one, knowing me) would _never_ have been posed to me. Chev just nodded and tapped out a message mentioning how time was ticking down and we needed to get our stuff together, so we hurried back to our room. There, we tossed our gear in our knapsacks and tugged on our armor, grabbing a bit of a snack from the rations we kept in our bags. As soon as everything was in order, we returned to the hangars. Skywalker was waiting there for us; he had suited up in a retina-searing orange flight suit (Chev cringed when he saw it) and was checking out his X-wing for any crippling damage. A blue astro droid wheeled in from what appeared to be a maintenance bay, and after Skywalker spoke to it, it scurried over to the X-wing's side, where a vacuum came down and hauled it up, setting it snugly into its port behind the cockpit. The process was repeated with the X-wings Chev and I would be using even though I didn't think we'd need the droids. But since Chev didn't seem to mind, I called out to Skywalker and waved a bit. He jogged over after stopping at a shelf and grabbing two helmets.

"You're back just in time," he said, presenting the helmets. "Everything's ready, and your fighters are warmed, so we can get movin'."

"Fine by me," I replied, tucking the helmet under my arm and heading to "my" fighter.

As I tossed the knapsack in the cargo hatch and vaulted into the cockpit, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I thought back to that droid. Oh, but that thing would surely blow a gasket if it knew what I was up to! I just grinned and shook my head as I got comfy in the cockpit, putting on my borrowed helmet and getting used to its fit. As I locked onto the intercom, I could hear Skywalker's voice.

"Chev, see if you can get the mental electrodes in your helmet to 'talk' to your R2 unit," he said. "Then it can send a message out across our readers."

In that moment, I knew what was going on. Chev had jumped into his fighter only to realize that once he was inside, his datapad would do him little good. And remember how I said the droids wouldn't do any good? Well, I was wrong. And I knew what Skywalker was talking about with the mental electrodes. They monitored brain activity, heart rate, respiration, all that fun stuff, and a finely-tuned R2 unit could "translate" the brain waves of thought into words that would be transmitted across the screens on our dashboards.

"Or you could use that telepathy thing," I said, thinking of an easier route.

"That too," Skywalker chuckled weakly.

I glanced over and found Chev frowning, and I remembered. Sevvie was the computer brains of the ARC trio. Chev doesn't . . . Let me think how I can most kindly put this . . . Chev doesn't get along well with technology.

"Oh," Skywalker said suddenly. "That _is_ a problem."

"What's a problem?" I asked, even though I knew.

"He says he's no good with techno stuff."

"That's fine," I replied, maybe _too_ cheerily. Chev may not have been one for technology, but I rather liked it. And, well, I'd been taking lessons from Sevvie. "Chev, listen to me. Do what I tell you, all right? We'll get that thing patched through in no time."

Chev nodded at me and gave me a thumbs-up, and I began to guide him through the very complicated process of connecting the electrodes. Thank goodness I'd listened when Sevvie had told me about it even though, at the time, I'd thought it wasn't ever going to be useful . . . My apologies, Sevvie. After a few minutes and a few shouts of "Hey, what's keepin' ya?!" from the other Rogues (oh, Force, _that_ is never, _ever_ gonna get old . . .), a message appeared on my reader.

IF YOU SEE THIS, SHOUT MY NAME.

I turned and, grinning, waved at Chev. Oh, I was _so_ proud of myself!

"Okay, Chev!" I called. "That worked beautifully!"

Skywalker congratulated us, told his wingmates and the transport we were ready, and the next minute, three other X-wings and a medium-sized Mon Cal transport eased out of a nearby hangar. Chev and I followed Skywalker out, moving to flank him but being careful not to get in the way. He introduced Chev and me, explained the situation with Chev (the most tactful retelling I'd heard), and we got a hearty welcome from the others. I just grinned and gave my thanks as we got our hyperspace coordinates from the Rebel fleet. A few moments later, the stars streaked past and we jumped to lightspeed. First mission; how 'bout that?


	19. Assignment

**Chapter Eighteen – Assignment **

Light-years away in his meditation chamber in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, Darth Vader sat deep in contemplation. There were strange, strange tremors in the Force. Someone new . . . unexpected . . . was manipulating it. And yet, Vader felt, it was as if that someone were using it unintentionally. However, there was something even stranger about the tremors. He delved deeper, deeper, searching for the source. It was not Skywalker (he hissed angrily at the thought of the boy); no, this power was far too untamed, far too wild. He doubted if its user even fully realized what was going on. Still he searched, hunting for the new Force user. He nearly tumbled from his chair when a face appeared in his consciousness. The Empire's star experiment . . . No . . . This wasn't possible! How could a mere _re-clone_ (he said that word aloud just so he could spit it out with utmost disgust) possess even the fragment of Force power he felt?!

Vader's gloves fists clenched into nearly solid metal balls, and he reached over and slammed the comm panel, seething with almost unbridled rage. He knew what he had to do now. And, if he were ever so fortunate, he could wrench the two thorns from his side in one swift stroke. A moment later, a hesitant-looking sergeant appeared on the screen and saluted slowly.

"Send me Fett," Vader snarled, slamming the panel again. "_Now!_"

"Uhh, y—yes sir, Lord Vader, sir," the sergeant stammered, jumping in terror as he hurriedly typed at a terminal near him. "H—he's in the refectory right now . . . But I shall send him up as quickly as possible!"

"Then do _not_ waste a second, sergeant," Vader growled, voice deep and menacing. "I should _hate_ for your superiors to find you lying dead while on duty."

Another nervous jump.

"Y—yes, sir!"

And then the comm screen went dark. Vader grumbled under his breath, slouching in his seat. The newer soldiers were so tremulous, always quailing at anything bigger than they. Whenever would they learn . . . ? Vader sighed in irritation, mulling over the current situation. Yes, his new plan would have to do just fine. If he could capture Six-Three-Six _and_ Skywalker, then he could return the former to his handlers and the latter to the Emperor. Oh, wasn't _this_ going to be delightful . . . He tapped his index fingers together as he sat there waiting on his favorite bounty hunter. This was most definitely the way to do things. And perchance he could be free of that infernal Rogue, too; if she were to die, she certainly wouldn't attempt to stage a rescue of her _precious_ husband. Besides, the Empire no longer had any use for her. Endeavoring to recruit her into the Empire's service would prove as futile as it ever had. Even she had not escaped a mental reset at the hands of Director of Intelligence Isard. Vader snarled with hatred at the very thought of Rogue, but a moment later, he sensed the door outside opening. He swiveled his chair around, opened the meditation chamber with a flick of his wrist, and stood. He smirked silently beneath his helmet at the sight of his visitor standing there apathetically, rifle held securely in his grip.

"I hope you've got a good reason for interrupting my dinner," Boba Fett said in an almost bored monotone.

"Indeed," came the rumbling response. "A double bounty."

At this, it seemed that Boba's interest was peaked. His stance changed ever so subtly, and he shifted his weight a bit.

"Whose heads?" he asked. If he were trying to hide his curiosity, he wasn't doing a good job, Vader mused.

"Bring me Skywalker, and bring me the traitor TH-636. If you cannot get Skywalker just now, then bring me the traitor—alive, if possible."

Even from beneath his helmet's visor, it was evident that Boba was eyeing Vader cautiously. His posture shifted a bit as he adjusted his grip on his rifle.

"TH-636? I wouldn't have thought a simple Stormtrooper would've gone turncoat."

"He isn't a '_simple_ Stormtrooper,'" Vader responded. "He is the one we re-cloned . . . The one who attempted to sabotage the new Death Star."

He turned slightly and lifted his hand, summoning to his grasp a small holorecorder. When it landed securely in his gloved hand, he mashed a button on the side, and a recording of Chevron (Vader despised that name) training Stormtroopers appeared. Vader pressed another button, and it zoomed in on Chevron's face.

"Perhaps you recognize him now?" he asked, holding the recorder out to Boba, who took it and studied it. "After all, he married _your sister_."

He spoke those words with such a sneer of contempt that it was obvious he would rather bury Rogue than anything. He also noticed that as soon as he spoke the words "your sister," Boba's posture straightened as if with hatred. Yet he studied the holorecorder for a moment, not saying anything for a long, silent minute.

"I know him," he said finally. "Theta-636."

"Indeed," Vader replied. "His old designation. But he's become a menace to the Empire. Don't bother with Rogue; we've captured and lost her too many times to find her worth the effort. But . . . if she should get in the way of your completing this assignment . . . then do not hesitate to kill her. The Empire will be better off, anyway."

Boba looked up, switched off the holorecorder, and tucked it into his belt. Again, he didn't say anything; he didn't respond to Vader's order to kill Rogue if need be. Perhaps he was contemplating his undeniable family ties to her. Or perhaps he was planning how best to trick her so that she _would_ end up in his line of fire. Whatever his thoughts, he did not voice them. He just nodded after a moment.

"Fine; I'll get Skywalker and the turncoat. I expect to be _well paid_."

"Oh, you will be. Have no doubt of that. That's all I want: Skywalker and Six-Three-Six. And _alive_. The last mark you dragged in was little more than a pile of ashes."

There was a faint, almost inaudible chuckle from beneath Boba's visor as he slowly stroked his rifle, evidently proud of its "disintegration" setting. Vader set his hands on his belt and watched the bounty hunter for a moment before Boba nodded slowly and turned to leave. Vader watched him go, a cold smile finding its way onto his cold face. He had full faith that his favorite hunter would deliver the results he was looking for. A little tracking, then capture, and then Vader would have his prize, maybe even his _prizes_. He turned and reentered his meditation chamber, sinking heavily into the chair and musing over the assignment he'd just given. Perhaps this would eventually lead to the capture of the three people he hated the most. No doubt that Rogue would come after her beloved . . . And, if she did—Vader savored the thought—she would be shot. No, no, not shot immediately. Tortured. Broken. _Then_ executed. While Chevron watched. And then _he_ would be delivered to Isard's . . . treatment cells. Oh, it was the _perfect_ set-up. A smirk crossed Vader's face as he thought about it, found pleasure in planning every motion, every event. He would be triumphant at last: his two adversaries would be dead, and Skywalker would bow to the Emperor. And all of this would take place just as soon as Fett did his job. Now, to wait for the results.


	20. Destination: Home

**Chapter Nineteen – Destination: Home**

We were about halfway to our destination when I stole a glance at my X-wing's navcomp and realized with shock that I recognized the coordinates. We were headed straight for _Manda'yaim_. I almost slumped against the controls with surprise, but I managed to restrain myself to only a flabbergasted gasp. I must've been heard, because in my ear were questions of "Are you all right?" and on my droid reader, which had a flashing light indicating private channel, appeared the message of "Is it the baby?" Ahh, my ever-concerned husband, questioning my wellbeing.

"I'm fine, everybody," I replied, and I could just about _feel_ relief from Chev. Non-Jedi or no, you eventually get a feel for folks' emotions. "Just a moment of surprise."

"_Over what?"_ Skywalker asked over the comm, and I couldn't help but grin.

"Our target coordinates. Are you sure they're correct?"

"_Positive. Why?"_

"Well, from where I'm sittin', we're headed right for _Manda'yaim_—er, Mandalore."

"_Of course,"_ Skywalker replied with a chuckle. _"That's where the supply depot is. We've got little pockets of Rebel sympathizers throughout the Mandalore sector, and the planet Mandalore is where the main depot is."_

"Then maybe I oughtta tell you that, by letting Chev and me come along, you're practically taking us home."

There was silence on the comm before another of the Rebellion's hotshot pilots, a kid called Wedge, spoke up.

"_Well, whaddaya know? I didn't know we had a couple of Mandalorians with us. The way I've heard it, a Mandalorian can be a hell of a fighter."_

"You heard right," I chuckled.

"_Guess that's why the Princess let 'em be your bodyguards, eh, Luke?"_

Skywalker replied with an affirmative before the transport vessel called to us and told us to keep our chatter to a minimum. So we all clammed up, and I couldn't help but grin to myself. We were going home, at least for a little while. Maybe Skywalker would let Chev and me have a minute to run by the house and say "_Su'cuy_" to Larra and crew. Or maybe . . . ooh! I'd looked at the datapad of _Kal'buir_'s whereabouts that Sevvie had given me just before we'd left to guard Skywalker. According to that (and Force knows I trust Sevvie), Kal was living _right on Manda'yaim_. Sure, it was on the other side of Keldabe and a good distance from town to boot, but did I care? Nope! Was I going to try to swing events so Chev and I could drop by to see him? You betcha. But I know, I know; you're probably thinking that if Kal were so close to our house, why hadn't we gone to see him already? Well, that's easy. For one thing, I hadn't even heard of his whereabouts since Larra's court martial many, _many_ years ago. And another thing: Chev and I aren't home very much anymore, and neither are Larra and the others. Very simple. Moving on.

We came out of hyperspace several hours later (I was just beginning to doze off, which would _not_ have been smart), and my heart soared as I looked out the cockpit windshield and saw _Manda'yaim_ coming up to greet us. I wished desperately to be able to see Chev's face; I knew he was just grinning. Even though we'd only left the planet, oh, _two days ago_, it was still great to come home. As we made our approach, Wedge jokingly asked me where all the good bars were. I told him that Keldabe was the place to go, but then I warned him that, unless he was only planning to drink one little sip, to stay _away_ from the _tihaar_. The question "Why?" came back as we followed the transport ship toward the supply depot, and I told the story of Scorch's Fruit Bomb the way it had been told to me. You see, not too long ago, maybe . . . three, four years, Scorch decided to play a trick on Larra. He got out the _tihaar_, poured her a glass, then spiked it with regular ol' whiskey for . . . color, let's say. At first, Lar thought it was the most disgusting drink she'd ever had, but Scorch calmly assured her there was nothing wrong. She drank it. She _liked_ it. (Reminds me of the time I handed her Corellian ale and she ended up getting seriously gassed.) And then she drank a few more. By the time she was done, she was threatening to hop up on a table and dance topless, and everybody who wasn't horrified at the mental images of _that_ was laughing their head off at the hilariousness of Scorch's trick. Larra could barely think straight and, the way the tale goes, even used her Jedi powers to levitate the kitchen table on which she was sprawled out. (Me, I was just surprised to hear that she managed to pull together enough focus for that.) But eventually, Scorch managed to drag her off and tuck her into bed to sleep it off, and when morning came . . . I believe Scorch slept on the couch for the next week and a half. Larra was _so_ ticked off, and when that anger was paired with one helluva hangover, she was an incoherent wreck. Scorch laughingly brings up the incident every once in a while, whenever all of us—Chev, me, and Sevvie included—are together to Larra's embarrassment and to Lae and Trent's screeching laughter that their mother could _ever_ end up in such a state. Reminds me that someday I've gotta tell 'em the story of Lar's first drink. Heh, heh. That one was my fault, but I didn't do it on purpose like Scorch did. Anyway, the group shared a good laugh over that story, and I almost expected to hear Chev chime in with a guffaw or two, but there was nothing, and I felt a pang of grief at that. I didn't have long to mourn that, though, because we eventually came to land at the supply depot at the small (and by that, I mean "tiny") Rebel base there on Mandalore.

When we landed, I decided to take it easy on myself and the baby I was packing around by climbing from my X-wing rather than leaping out like I normally would if I were, say, _not_ pregnant. For a minute, I had the thought of "What the _haran_ am I _doing_ here, gallivanting around the galaxy, in _this_ state?!" Ah, well, I guess I got a bit of target fixation with this whole bodyguard duty thing. Anyway, we all got out of our X-wings and started helping the Rebels there at the base get the supplies we'd escorted all the way over there inventoried and organized. I must admit, Chev and I were doing a mighty fine job of keeping Skywalker out of mischief. I mean, it wasn't like any harm could come to him in a place full of Rebels, but we were intent on our mission. We helped unload and stack crates and the like, too, though Chev would take the heavy ones from me and leave me with the lighter things. I jokingly asked if he were doing that just to prove the strength of his biceps even though I _knew_ he was doing it to keep me healthy, and he just grinned at me even though I knew he knew I knew. Boy, talk about a tongue twister . . . _Anyway_, Chev and I did such a good job of hanging around Skywalker that eventually he turned around and begged us to go off and do something else. He assured us that he could handle things, that there were more than enough folks to help with the supplies, and that he'd be okay if we went off for a little while. Then he made sure to mention that since we were on Chev and my homeworld, we were free to say hello to relatives. Lemme tell you something: Skywalker doesn't hint very well. But I agreed even though Chev protested, and we borrowed a landspeeder from the Rebels to hop over to Keldabe for a little while. My stomach was flopping like a beached fish at the prospect of seeing Kal again, so before we jumped in the speeder, I took Chev aside . . . and told him.

"Chev," I said carefully. "I have a surprise for you."

His eyebrows went up in curiosity.

"I know where Kal is."

Okay, his eyebrows went up even _higher_ that time, and a huge grin lit up his face as he merrily tapped away at his datapad.

WHERE IS HE? ARE WE GONNA GO SEE HIM?

"He's right here on _Manda'yaim_," I told him, "and yeah, we can go see him right now if you want to!"

I was grinning now, very happy at the thought. Chev just beamed at me so brightly, and he nodded rapidly, but in an instant, his smile vanished as he put a hand to his throat. And then his face took on a look of horror, and he typed slowly, much more thoughtfully, at his datapad before holding it up, brows furrowed.

ROGUE . . . I CAN'T TALK.

No, really? Are you _sure_? I sighed almost a bit exasperatedly and touched his forearm, looking up at him and having this momentary thought of "Holy frack, Chev's tall." But I shook that thought off and looked right up into his big brown—and very worried—eyes.

"I know, Chev," I said gently. "I'd just . . . I guess I'd hoped you'd want to see him in spite of that. If you're not comfortable with it, I'll understand."

Chev shook his head rapidly and typed out another message.

I HAVEN'T SEEN HIM IN YEARS, NOT SINCE BEFORE GEO. I _WANT_ TO SEE HIM, _RO'IKA_ . . . I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW HE'LL REACT TO MY BEING VOICELESS.

"He'll clap you on the shoulder and say 'How the hell have you been, son?'" I said, trying to do my best _Kal'buir_ imitation. Let me tell you that I wasn't as convincing as the real Kal would've been. But Chev smiled faintly as his gaze fell a little.

I GUESS IT'D BE OKAY . . .

"Sure it will!" I enthused, gripping his shoulder. I was getting oh-so-excited about seeing Kal again after so many years. "Do you want to?"

Chev nodded, looking straight at me. The look I saw in his eyes told me he wanted so desperately to see his _Kal'buir_ again, but he wanted even more desperately to be able to vocally greet Kal. At the moment, it looked like we'd just have to settle for seeing Kal. I motioned to the landspeeder before crawling into the passenger side, and Chev vaulted into the driver's side. I smiled at him, and he grinned right back before shifting the thing into gear. I had to admit, I hadn't been in something that scooted that fast over ground since we took a speeder to the house on our wedding night. I pulled out the datapad Sevvie had given me and read off directions to Chev, and a good while later, we pulled up at a small but cozy-looking house not unlike the one we shared with Larra and the others. The first thing I noticed about it was that it was out in the middle of nowhere. Literally. We'd sped past Keldabe ages ago, and there wasn't another _Mando'ad_ to be seen. I looked at Chev and found his eyes latched anxiously on the house. I reached over and took his hand.

"He's gotta be here, Chev," I said. "This has got to be his place. _Sevvie_ got me the directions, and you know how he can get locations down to the inch."

DON'T YOU THINK WE OUGHT TO . . . I DUNNO . . . CALL FIRST?

"If you want to," I sighed, "we could. But wouldn't it be fun to surprise him?"

Chev looked thoughtful at that, and he was just about to reply when the door to the little house opened and someone stepped out. I shielded my eyes against the afternoon sun as I climbed out of the landspeeder, and while I didn't know who that someone it was, I could tell it wasn't Kal. He was much too tall to be Kal. Chev came around to my side, also studying the figure at the house who was all too obviously observing us, too. After a moment, I waved a bit.

"_Su'cuy_," I said, receiving a nod of acknowledgment. "Kal Skirata live here?"

The figure on the front porch went straight as a board before stepping out into the sunlight. In that moment, I found myself looking at a face very similar to Chev's—and Sevvie's and the Delta boys'. Holy _osik_, no way . . . And the way he carried himself looked so . . . so proud, but not in the arrogant way. In fact, it was the way Chev stood whenever he got into what we've come to dub as "ARC mode." And, well, Larra and Sevvie had that same posture whenever they got to reminiscing about their ARC days. So, let's have a math class: ARC plus ARC who knows Kal equals . . . one of Kal's infamous Null ARCs. My heart almost skipped a beat as he came out closer to us, and for the first time, I noticed a pistol on his hip. Force, these guys never went unprepared, eh? He scrutinized Chev and me for a good minute.

"You know _Kal'buir_?" he asked, his voice sounding _very_ close to how I remembered Kal's, but with a touch of _Jang'buir_ tossed in because of, well, you know. Can't get around hereditary, now can you?

I nodded and was just about to answer when the front door squeaked open and a voice floated out.

"Who're you interrogating now, _Ord'ika_?"

My heart skipped another beat as I peered around Ordo and found Kal standing there on the front porch, arms crossed a bit. Ordo turned, and I stepped out from behind him, grinning. I saw Kal's blue eyes widen in recognition as I took a few steps toward the porch.

"Long time, no see, _Kal'buir_," I said, trying to keep my voice from quivering with happiness.

"_Ro'ika_? Little Rogue? That you all grown up?"

I nodded as tears ran down my face, and the next thing I knew, Kal came down the front steps (he still had his limp, I noticed) and embraced me. _Hard._ I just squeezed him back before he held me at arms' length and looked me over. There was, of course, the question of "How've you been, girl?" and the statement of "Last time I saw you, you were a mouthy twenty-something!" I just hugged Kal, remembering how he first taught me to handle a knife, before kissing him gently on the cheek like I would if I were his daughter by blood. He smiled at me in that paternal way he had before catching sight of Chev. His eyes went wide as Chev's face lit up in a grin, and Kal shuffled right over to him. The two embraced with quite a hard smack, but nonetheless in a father-son manner. I wiped a tear from my eye with my middle finger. Ordo seemed a little confused; at least, he wanted a few introductions. Well, I figured we had enough time for that. Kal and Chev eventually broke apart, and Chev was grinning so wide that I thought his smile would be too big for his face. Kal gripped his shoulders and gave him a loving shake.

"Well, Chev . . . How the hell have you been, son?"

And what, exactly, had I told Chev that Kal would say? Right . . . I chuckled to myself, walking closer as Chev shrugged and tapped out a message on his datapad. From the way that Kal's face took on a concerned expression, I knew that Chev had just explained his muteness. I felt my heart twist a bit as Kal warmly embraced Chev, accepting him in spite of Chev's loss. Then he mussed Chev's hair in his loving, fatherly way before waving me over. He put one arm around Chev's broad shoulders and the other around me, nodding Ordo over.

"_Ord'ika_," he said, "this here's Rogue Fett, Jango's adopted daughter. And this is one of my other ARC boys, known as Chevron."

I nodded a hello, deciding right then _not_ to tell Kal that Chev had been, well, _dead_. But he'd have to know sometime that Chev and I were now married. And maybe, if I were in a particularly good mood, I'd let him know about his "grandbaby." Ordo came over and shook my hand, then Chev's, and Kal tactfully informed him of Chev's muteness. Ordo took it all in stride, being just as brotherly to Chev as you please, what with the fact that they'd both been ARCs and all. I could immediately see relief on Chev's face; it was obvious that he was worried that his muteness would cause a few problems. But it hadn't, because Kal was just so glad to see us that not much mattered other than the fact that we had come for a visit. After hugging us again, Kal ushered us toward the house. When he opened up the door, I was surprised that the house wasn't a total wreck. I mean, Kal was single and I knew that there were more Nulls than just Ordo—more than three, anyway; I couldn't remember the exact number that'd been listed on Sevvie's datapad. Anyway, it was a cozy little place, not fancy but instead functional, a lot like our house was. From where I stood, I could see a pile of rifle parts heaped in a corner, and I chuckled faintly. We had several similar piles at our house, what with the Delta boys and Lar always working on equipment for the hell of it. I glanced at Chev and watched him take in his _Kal'buir_'s home for a moment, but then his eyes latched onto the pile of rifle parts and widened slightly with want. Ordo must've noticed, because he hauled Chev off, and that seemed a whole lot like two little boys going off to play together with their toy blasters and model starfighters.

"Hadn't thought you two would pop outta thin air," Kal said, shuffling off to the kitchen to get some caf brewing. I followed him. "I wish the rest of my boys were here, but they're off chasing Imps with the Rebels."

"Well, we might see 'em sometime, then," I said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "We've taken up playing the role of bodyguards for the Rebellion's star pilot."

"Skywalker? Huh. Good kid, from what I've heard, but a bit _jare'la_. His _sheb'ika_ is safe with you two watching it."

I laughed at Kal's use of the word _sheb'ika_. That was the kids' form of _shebs_, either used by kids being cute or by adults being sarcastic or sharing 'fresher humor. I shook my head at him, grinning a bit, before he looked right up and at me.

"You still carry a knife on you, _Ro'ika_?" he asked, totally serious.

Ahh, it was only fitting he should ask that. After all, _he_ was the one who'd first taught me to use a knife. I beamed proudly at him as I nodded, and then I flicked my wrist, and my knife dropped into my hand, hilt-first, from the secret compartment on the underside of my right armor gauntlet. Kal nodded approvingly and quite proudly, I might add.

"Good girl," came his praising reply. "You're always gonna be prepared. Ol' Jango would've been proud of you, _ad'ika_."

He turned to prep the caf, and I bowed my head in a moment of mourning as I tucked my knife back into its hiding place. You wouldn't think a forty-somethin' woman would miss her father, but this one did. In my mind, I whispered the words "_Ni su'cuyi_, _gar kyr'adyc_, _ni partayli_, _gar darasuum_"—"I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal"—before murmuring _Jang'buir_'s name so quietly that Kal only asked me if I'd said something. I said no, he complained about getting old and deaf, and I gave a little grin before glancing over my shoulder. Chev and Ordo were sitting in the corner and playing with the rifle parts. From what I could tell, they were getting along quite well; it seemed as if Chev's mode of communication (i.e., his datapad) posed no problem to a voiced Ordo. I smiled a bit as Ordo brought out one heck of a repeater and showcased it before Chev, seeming as if he were about to burst from pride in that rifle. Chev's eyes were glowing with admiration for the rifle; I knew that if it'd been a sniper rifle and Sev were there, he would've been all over it, but even Chev could tell an awesome weapon when he saw one—hence his longing gaze. I watched them for a moment, just long enough to see Ordo fish some pieces from the Pile of Miracle Parts and offer them to Chev, but then Kal calmly cleared his throat to catch my attention. When I turned, he passed me a steaming cup of caf, which I accepted gratefully.

"So," he said, taking a relaxed seat at the kitchen table. I joined him, sliding into the chair across from him. "You two kids just friends?"

Kids . . . Oh, what a laugh. Then again, I guess we were all kids to _Kal'buir_. I wouldn't say he was gettin' on in years because he could probably still do a handful of the things he used to. I stirred my caf, smiling a bit and knowing he'd meant Chev.

"Ah, a little more than friends, I'd say."

His eyebrow went up questioningly, and I pulled my left gauntlet off to show off my sparkling gold wedding band, smiling. He nodded slowly, and the next thing I heard was "Uh _huh_ . . ."

"So he got a normal life," he said, looking over at where Chev and Ordo were, gazing at them both with such a fatherly look that I got a serious case of the "warm fuzzies." Then he turned back to me. "Where'd you meet him, eh, _ad'ika_?"

I smirked to myself, sipping my caf and looking at Kal over the top of the cup. It was high time to let a cat that even _Jang'buir_ hadn't known about right out of the bag. And, boy, was I _ever_ glad I'd waited until I got married and hadn't turned up pregnant way-back-when (meaning pre-Geo). That would've been quite the messy situation, complete with court martials, a disowning or two, and maybe an execution squad for the guilty party because, hey—I doubted _Jang'buir_ would've paid for a shotgun wedding for me and an ARC. But I was about to milk Chev and my secret romance for everything it was worth.

"Kamino," I said simply, waiting for the _boom_.

There was a long, _long_ moment of silence as Kal just looked at me. I took it all in stride, staying quiet and calmly drinking my caf as if there had been nothing strange about what I'd just said. There was another "Uh _huh_," and I barely kept my laughter suppressed. I just looked up, miraculously keeping my face straight.

"What's the matter, _Kal'buir_?" I asked, playfully and almost tauntingly. "Never heard of a romance between an ARC captain-in-training and the clone host's daughter?"

"You two were runnin' around behind everybody's backs back on _Kamino_?" came the disbelieving answer. I chuckled.

"Well, it wasn't _everybody's_ backs," I joked. "We only hid it from . . . oh . . . you, _Jang'buir_, the _kaminiise_, and . . . hmm . . . _only_ the rest of the _akaan'ade_."

Then there was a "Hmph," and I wondered what _that_ meant. I looked up and saw a frown etched on Kal's face, but when he found me watching him, the frown faded into a tiny smile as he reached over and patted my hand. I set my caf down and squeezed his hand, still trying not to giggle.

"If it makes you feel better, we didn't _do_ anything back on Kamino," I said, and Kal dismissed me so fast that I caved in and laughed.

"Aw, _haran_, I'm just glad he got a real life. And I'd say you're as fine a girl as ever was. Credit to _gar buir_, _ad'ika_."

I offered a crooked little half-smile as I glanced back over at Chev. Ordo had almost magically produced a hydrospanner and was helping Chev construct a magnificent attachment for Chev's Deece. Those two were getting along so well for only having met a little while ago. I began to wonder how long we could visit with Kal, how long we'd have to catch up on old times with him. I mean, Skywalker had _begged_ us to leave him with the Rebels, anyway. For all I knew, he was planning to skip off back to the Rebel fleet as soon all the supplies were inventoried and stored and not even tell us he was going. I wouldn't have put that past him; after all, he hadn't really wanted bodyguards in the first place. I certainly didn't blame him; back when I was a twenty-somethin', I thought I was invincible, too. That's why I thought I could take on a Jedi Knight and win, if you'll recall.

Kal and I continued talking for a long time as Ordo and Chev visited, but eventually they came over and joined us. We got a bit of a progress report from Ordo on what all the Nulls were up to, which was, as I put it, making big messes for the Imps to clean up. Omega Squad was doing fine; in fact, they'd taken to something of the same arrangement that Lar and the Deltas had. They were working with the Rebels as the special ops squad they'd always been. Both Kal and Ordo mentioned someone named "Etain"; I didn't recognize the name, so I had to ask "Who?" To put it plainly, Lar and I apparently weren't the first to fall in love with clone troopers—whether they were ARCs or commandos—though I knew I _was_ the first because we were still on Kamino when Chev and I got together. So after Kal and Ordo brought us up to date on their lives, Chev and I brought them to date on ours. We explained just about everything, excluding the facts that Chev had been killed and brought back, that we'd both been through _Lusankya_, and that I was now pregnant. Instead, we told Kal that, yes, we _did_ meet on Kamino, and we _did_ fall in love there, but we were separated during the war. (Let's face it though, folks: that statement was actually true.) Then we told him that we met by sheer happenstance (also true) about seventeen years ago and picked up where we left off: we got married and took to hunt sabotage. Chev made _sure_ to mention that it had been my idea to take up that line of work; apparently he was proud of that fact. I didn't blame him; after all, I wanted to redeem the Fett family name in the eyes of the galaxy. Then we told of how, while on a routine sabotage job (also true—mostly), Chev got captured by the Empire. We didn't talk about what happened on _Relentless_ since both Kal and Ordo already knew, so we just rounded out the tale there.

"Sounds like you've had a rough few months, son," Kal said gently, reaching over and touching Chev's hand. Chev typed up a message for him to read.

I'M AFRAID I'VE HAD A ROUGH _LIFE_, _KAL'BUIR_.

Kal squeezed Chev's hand, Ordo went "Mm," as if he understood perfectly, and I just fell silent. It wasn't fair that Chev had to have been leveled with such a tough time. I mean, he got two chances at life, and each one ended up having tragedy in it! The first go-round, he was _killed_. This time, he had no voice. Somewhere back along the line, we'd done something wrong, and now that was coming back to bite us on our _shebse_ in the form of catastrophe after catastrophe. Kind of made me fear for my baby, y'know? I tell you, this kid's parents do _not_ have a good track record.

Anyway, we talked for a good long time—until it was dark, anyway. Then Chev and I had to start thinking about what we were going to do next. Either we were going to go back to the Rebels and spend the night in a cold barracks or we were going to stay with Kal. Skywalker hadn't called us to tell us to come back, so I figured we still had a while to visit. It seemed that Kal didn't want to bid us goodbye so quickly, either, so we made plans to spend the night at his house.

"Hope you two don't mind staying in separate rooms," Kal said, leading us down the hallway toward some bedrooms.

"Oh, it's fine," I said. "It's not like I'm gonna make you go out of your way for us."

"Even if you weren't, I still would."

I chuckled; that was true. He'd been unique among the trainers back on Kamino in that he loved the men he trained as if they were his own biological sons. This was a man who clearly understood the meaning of "_Aliit ori'shya tal'din_," folks. He opened a door and flipped on the light inside, motioning in.

"_Ro'ika_, you can stay in here if you like," Kal said as I looked around. "It's Mereel's room, but since he's not due home for another week, I figure he won't mind."

I studied the room a bit; for one thing, it was certainly cozier than the room Chev and I had back at the _Home One_. There was one bunk in the corner with plain sheets on it and several blankets stacked up on the foot of the bed. A rifle hung on a rack over the bunk, and another rifle rack, this one empty, was on the opposite wall. I wasn't expecting it to be feminine, nor was I uncomfortable with the fact that it was totally obvious that this was a house full of men. I mean, back on Kamino, I'd grown up surrounded by testosterone, with me being the sole splotch of estrogen for parsecs around, and I'd never had lacy curtains once in my life—not like I'd want them, anyway. I nodded and smiled at Kal.

"It'll do fine," I said.

"Good." He sounded . . . relieved, if only faintly. "You can get comfortable, then. Get yourself outta that armor and make yourself _yaim'la_. Chev, you can take Jaing's room."

He led Chev off to the room right next to the one I'd be staying in, and I headed in. I was just about to start peeling off my armor and exchange it for my civvies, but then I realized I hadn't brought my knapsack in. I started to head out to the speeder and grab Chev's stuff as well as mine, but I ended up meeting Ordo at the door. He smiled to me and held out two knapsacks.

"Thought you could stand to have these," he said.

Aww, but wasn't that _sweet_ of him to go out and get our stuff? I smiled gratefully.

"_Vor'e_, Ordo," I said. "You saved me a trip!"

"_Ba'gedet'ye_," came the reply. "No problem at all."

Then he headed off to attempt to neaten up the pile of rifle parts as I scampered back down the hall, giving Chev's knapsack to him and taking my own into "my" room. Once there, I shut the door and changed quickly, sprucing myself up a bit. I had to admit, it was so much nicer to be in comfy civvies than in my armor. When I came out again, Chev and Kal were in the kitchen having a nice little conversation, and Ordo was leaned up against the counter, listening. As I approached, Kal looked at Chev, then me.

"Hope you kids don't mind going out for dinner," he said, "because I can't cook to save my _shebs_. Now, we could try _Ord'ika_'s cooking—"

Chev shook his head rapidly, and Ordo chuckled wryly. I grinned, almost wickedly, because I knew that Chev couldn't cook, either. Come to think of it, neither could _Jang'buir_. Maybe _that_ was the problem: there were no cooking genes on that side of the Fett line. But Chev _had_ tried once . . . It just hadn't turned out well. As I recall, he nearly set the _Chevron_'s galley on fire. I love my husband, but he'd be the first to tell you that there are two things he can't do: cook and play with technology.

"Nope, dinner out is just fine," I told Kal. "I'll even pay."

"Oh, no, you won't," came the reply. "You two came all the way out here to see ol' Kal, and I'm gonna make sure you eat well. None of that mush they serve the Rebel troops, and no _gihaal_, either. _Real_ food."

Chev looked like he might start salivating as he tapped away at his datapad before holding it up.

LIKE . . . NERF STEAK?

"_Exactly_ like nerf steak," Kal replied with a little grin.

When Chev pantomimed the action of fainting, Ordo let out a short bark of laughter. Kal and I just grinned. Before long, we were out the door and on our way to Keldabe; we'd taken the landspeeder Chev and I had borrowed from the Rebels because, as I told Kal, we would pay for the transportation if he'd pay for the food. That proved to be an acceptable arrangement, so we traveled the thirty or so miles to Keldabe, where the city was in the full swing of evening. Folks were enjoying the nightlife everywhere I looked, and I felt so _yaim'la_—at home—that I couldn't stop smiling. Chev, too, was happy as could be as Kal and Ordo took us to their favorite restaurant. There, we dined on the best nerf steaks in probably the entire galaxy, and since this _was_ Keldabe, after all, we all had thick slices of _uj'alayi_ for dessert. We spent the whole evening talking and laughing, and I noted that Chev's face was just glowing with joy. It was as if, at that moment, he didn't care that he couldn't speak. He was with his _Kal'buir_ and a fellow ARC, and all of us were enjoying ourselves more than you could probably know. After we'd polished off dessert and were liable to start moaning with the delight of having happy taste buds, Kal brought out the _tihaar_, and we toasted to "_Aliit ori'shya tal'din_." Oh, but it was a _good_ night, and I was so glad that Skywalker had begged Chev and me to leave for a while.

When we returned to Kal's house later that night, I was so exhausted but incredibly cheerful. Kal and Ordo bid us good night, and Chev and I went off to bed. I could tell that Chev was in high spirits, too, even though he looked tired. I was glad I'd given him this gift, and now that we knew where Kal was, we could visit him whenever we were home. Chev kissed me gently before disappearing into "his" room and I went into "mine." I got all ready for bed and spread the blankets out across the bunk before switching off the light and tumbling in. I thought I'd have a hard time dozing off without Chev at my side, but I really didn't. In fact, I was so happy, so at peace with the galaxy, that I was asleep five minutes after my head hit the pillow.


	21. Rude Awakening

**Chapter Twenty – Rude Awakening**

"C'mon, _adike_! Up and at 'em!" 

I groaned and pulled the blankets over my head when Kal yelled for us to get up. I was _so_ tired, and Force knows I'd love to sleep in just once. There was a knock on my door, I muttered "Go away," Kal informed me that he _would_ be back, and then I heard him take up a post between Chev's room and Ordo's. I just buried myself underneath the covers, curling up into a ball. No way was I going to leave my nice, cozy—borrowed—bed. Then Kal shouted again.

"You call _this_ military discipline? Fall out, soldiers; role call, front and center!"

Then there were a loud racket as Chev and Ordo scrambled to get up. I guess it holds true that while you can take the soldier out of the army, you can't take the army out of the soldier. Then the noise stopped, Kal bid the two good morning, and then there was another knock on my door.

"You can't boss around a _civilian_, _Kal'buir_," I grumbled, staying nestled in the sheets.

"Watch me."

And then there was silence—wonderful, blissful silence. I was half-asleep again, almost so soundly asleep again that I was already beginning to dream. But Kal rapped his knuckles on the door, and I about leaped straight up. My heart started pounding as terrified shivers ran all across my skin; trust me, it is _not_ a good idea to awaken somebody who's about to start dreaming. But I just stayed buried up under the covers, silently begging Kal to let me have five more minutes—though an hour or . . . three . . . would be simply amazing.

"If you're not up and not wasting daylight in five minutes," Kal said, "Ordo's gonna cook."

That did it. I screeched in mock fright as I sat bolt upright and found Kal there next to me, smiling innocently. At the door, Ordo was chuckling, and Chev, still in his sleep pants, was trying to hide a smile. I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, still wrapped up in the blankets.

"I'm up, I'm up," I moaned, "but whatever you do, do _not_ let him cook."

Ordo grinned at me before leaving; the next thing I heard was the HoloNet transceiver in the den. Chev came in and pecked me on the forehead, his silent "Good morning," before he scampered out to get dressed. So, it was just me and Kal. I was still unwilling to climb totally out of bed before I'd become fully conscious. But Kal was an early riser and didn't like people to waste any hours in a day, so he gently pushed the blankets off me, revealing me in my sloppy pajamas. But his gaze latched onto my middle as one of his eyebrows went skyward, and I glanced down. My nightshirt had wrapped tightly around my abdomen, revealing the obvious bulge. I looked up at Kal, and he didn't say anything for a while.

"I think I might've missed a news flash," he said. "Somethin' you forgot to tell me, _Ro'ika_?"

I sighed and straightened my shirt, rubbing a hand over my middle. Better now than never, I figured. I rolled my shoulders back and stretched before looking right up at Kal, smiling faintly.

"Maaaaybe," I drawled. "Depends on what you think I forgot to tell you."

There was the slightest hint of a smile as Kal reached over and put a hand on my middle. At first, I was a little uncomfortable with that; prior to this, only Chev had ever felt the "baby bump." But, well, since Kal _was_ going to be this child's grandfather (and sticking "surrogate" in front of that would just be a matter of semantics), I figured he had a right to know.

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you, _Kal'buir_," I continued, playfully chiding him. "So yeah, I'm gonna be a mommy. Chev's gonna be a daddy. If you want to be technical, you're gonna be a grandpa."

He just looked at me for a minute.

"I'll be technical."

I grinned at him, and he smiled back as he rose, patted me on the shoulder, and headed for the door. When he got there, he turned, one hand on the doorframe, and looked back at me.

"But if you name that kid after me, I might get grumpy."

"Come now," I replied. "You _know_ you'd be flattered."

He harrumphed in such a way that I knew he wasn't genuinely irritable. But then he left, and I sat on the edge of the bed, yawning. I ran a hand through my messy hair before daring to stand up, and when I did, I was overwhelmed by such a wave of nausea that I couldn't stand it. There were two explanations for this; the first was that I'd eaten something last night that didn't agree with me, and the second was that that dreaded morning sickness was finally catching up to me. Needless to say, I went with that second option as I leaped up and darted to the 'fresher. I was barely in and had barely shut the door before I dropped to my knees, hung my head over the 'fresher, and retched. Badly. It felt like my intestines were turning inside-out. But not five seconds after I started, there came a knock at the bathroom door. I groaned. Oh, couldn't they pick a better time than this! It was my first real bout of morning sickness (handily taking place in the morning even though it's not restricted to that time of day) and I certainly didn't need company!

"Not . . . really a good time right . . . now," I stammered, trying to keep from throwing up mid-sentence.

There was a second knock, and I sighed, swallowing hard and trying to stop my stomach from lurching like a crashing star cruiser.

"If you're Chev, you can come in. Otherwise . . . get him for me."

The doorknob twisted, and the next moment, Chev was kneeling at my side, holding my hair back while I leaned over the 'fresher again. After a few minutes, my stomach calmed down to a relatively normal standpoint, and I tumbled into Chev's arms, breathless and sweaty. He stroked my hair and wiped my forehead as I whimpered pathetically.

"Cheeeeevvvv . . ." I moaned. "That was no fun . . ."

Had he had his voice, he would've chuckled; at least, that's what I figured, given the way his chest shook faintly. But he just held me, smoothing my hair back from my damp forehead and gently kissing the top of my head. Then he cradled me in one arm there on the 'fresher floor as he tapped quickly at his datapad.

SORRY, _RO'IKA_. I SUPPOSE THIS _IS_ MY FAULT . . .

"N—no," I managed, "not your fault. At least, I ain't blamin' you. It's my hormones that're wacky. I'll be . . . fine."

And yet, even as I said that, I felt as though I might throw up again. I swallowed hard and took deep breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth—as Chev just hugged me, his pregnant and sick-as-a-dog little wife.

WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY: THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

I chuckled wryly; oh, if only he knew what my insides felt like. They felt a good deal like jelly—really jiggly jelly—and I was shaking, pale, and weak in the knees. Whoo, boy, this was _not_ gonna be a fun day. Force forbid I should get through this pregnancy without throwing up every last inch of my intestines. Eventually, though, I got back to something that felt relatively normal, and Chev helped me to my feet. He stayed with my in the 'fresher while I pulled my civvies on and got cleaned up, and I knew it was because he wanted to make sure I was really all right. But I was still feeling a bit woozy, so I told him that if I bolted suddenly from the breakfast table, he shouldn't worry. He nodded and kissed me on the cheek as I pulled my hair into a ponytail. Then he tugged on his civvies and we went to the kitchen to meet up with Kal and Ordo. As soon as he saw me, Kal asked if I were all right, and I told him that I was. Chev offered to cook breakfast, and while I was still a little nauseated, I said that was all right. You see, in our years living onboard the _Chevron_, he'd learned to cook two things: scrambled eggs and toast, both of which I had taught him to prepare and which he had relatively mastered after what felt like a million failed attempts. (Look, I know it's not _that_ hard to make eggs and toast, but Chev has been fed by quartermasters all his life, all right?) So Chev set to work making these eggs and toast, and he slipped me a dry piece to help me feel better. They say that dry toast, salty crackers, or ginger ale are all good for a flip-flopping stomach, so I dared to nibble on the toast. I felt better after a few minutes, and when I did, I was more than ready to sip the caf Kal brought me. Of course, I was just beginning to feel more like my regular self when my comlink buzzed. Sighing, I tugged it off my belt.

"Rogue here," I said. "Speak."

"_Hey, Rogue, it's Luke."_

_Osik_. I was seriously hoping he wouldn't call for another, oh, _week_ even though I knew that it didn't take _that_ long to relieve one transport ship of its cargo. I looked up at Chev, and he immediately looked crushed. I knew that he wanted to stay and visit longer with his _Kal'buir_ and Ordo, but I knew that he also understood that duty came before downtime. I sighed.

"Okay, when do you want us back?"

"_Well, how about we start with 'Where are you?'"_

I chuckled. He obviously hadn't _even_ attempted to look for us.

"We're about thirty miles out from Keldabe," I replied, "paying a visit to Chev's training sergeant."

"_All right, then. That explains why nobody could find you; we thought you'd go out for a couple hours and then come back."_

"Nah, we stayed the night. But cut to the chase, Skywalker; when do you want us back?"

"_The transport's already gone back to the fleet, but since you weren't back, they went ahead and took all three of our X-wings with them. They're sending a . . . freelance transport for us. It's due to meet us outside of Keldabe."_

I frowned at that. I'd really been looking forward to logging some more flight hours in that beautiful, beautiful X-wing . . . Drat. I looked at Chev again; he looked even sadder as he dished up breakfast, and even Ordo looked a bit disappointed. I knew Kal would be sad to see us go, but I also knew that now that we knew where he lived, we could visit him whenever we were home on _Manda'yaim_.I took a nibble of my breakfast when Chev put it in front of me, mulling over the situation. They couldn't wait a few more hours for us? What were these Rebels, impatient little _adike_?

"_Rogue? You still there?"_ See what I mean about them being impatient kids?

"Yeah, I am," I sighed. "What time you do want us to meet you?"

"_Well, our ride home isn't due for another couple hours, give or take a few minutes."_

"Does that give us time to finish breakfast, get our stuff together, and have a few farewell hugs?"

"_I don't see why not. Just be sure to meet me on the south side of Keldabe in two hours. Skywalker out."_

Then the comlink clicked off, and I shoved it back into my belt as I looked at the men, now silent. I sighed and reached over to squeeze Chev's hand. He squeezed back before poking rather listlessly at his breakfast; he didn't want to leave any more than I did. It was a long time before any of us spoke, and when we did, it was Ordo.

"Y'know, you two were saying last night how you live at Jango's old house when you're not on assignment," he said. "So you _can_ just come and see us when you're home."

"I know," I replied, "but it's awfully hard to think about leaving."

"Don't I know it," Kal murmured, reaching over and patting my hand. "But why don't we just make plans to get together next time you're planet-side? Maybe then we can include the rest of my boys and Larra and her crew."

"And then we'd just _have_ to do a _Dha Werda_!" I grinned, nodding.

Chev seemed to cheer up at that. Ordo nudged him in the shoulder in that military brother sort of way, and I decided to test Chev's cooking. It wasn't bad; in fact, it was pretty good! He'd learned how to cook scrambled eggs and toast that was browned perfectly and not burnt, like I was prone to making it. Ordo held up his cup of caf in something of a toast, and the rest of us followed suit.

"To family reunions and _Dha Werda Verda_ exhibitions!"

"Here, here!" I replied, and Chev bobbed his head up and down, beaming.

"_K'oyacyi_," Kal added, downing his caf in one gulp.

The rest of us followed him in that, and the mood at the breakfast table seemed to brighten considerably. We sat there, talking (as if we hadn't chatted enough last night!) and sharing caf. And yes, Chev received compliments on his eggs and toast. Apparently, _Kal'buir_ couldn't even do that, poor man. But for almost an hour and a half, we sat there, talking, laughing, and crying, even. At least, we laughed so hard that we cried. I tell you, there are lots of hilarious stories to be told when there are three military men at one table, and I had a couple tales to share about my days as a bounty hunter. It doesn't matter how skilled or prepared you are in that field, because something is _always_ going to go wrong. It's like a first date in that respect. So, we just enjoyed each others' company until I got up the guts to break the sad news to Chev that it was time to get a move on. He looked disappointed, but then he cheered up when Kal gently reminded him that we'd all be able to get together again soon. Then Chev and I gathered up our things (a task that took about two minutes, even though we put on our armor, too), and Kal and Ordo walked us to our borrowed speeder. There, hugs were exchanged, Chev and Ordo smacked each other on the shoulders as Chev thanked Ordo for helping him upgrade his rifle, and I gave Kal a kiss on the cheek just as I had when we'd arrived. I've never been a fan of long goodbyes, because if I don't go ahead and get the _haran_ gone, I end up changing my mind and staying longer. So Chev and I waved over our shoulders as we hopped into the speeder and raced away, and as I looked back to watch Kal's house get smaller and smaller on the horizon, tears sprang to my eyes as I saw both him and Ordo waving back at us. I silently swore on _haat, ijaa, haa'it_ that we would return someday. Then I turned my gaze to the long stretch of plains ahead as we zoomed along to meet up with Skywalker.

We arrived on the outskirts of Keldabe about a half hour later, and, sure enough, there was Skywalker sitting on the ground with his back to an evergreen tree. He stood when we drove up and nodded to us, and I nodded back. Chev and I climbed from the speeder, but I noticed that as we did, Chev started looking around quite warily. Something about the way he was scanning the area put my senses on high alert, and I took to checking out the surrounding region as we met up with Skywalker.

"About time you got here," he said with a relieved sigh. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to come track you down."

"Nah," I said, "we were just visiting a little more."

Skywalker nodded, but then he noticed the way that my gaze was flicking around, and he sighed a bit. He asked me if I were all right, and I told him I was. But he still looked at me for a while, and I sighed but tried not to feel "weirded out" by Skywalker's staring. Besides, I was still looking around, trying to shake this feeling that someone or something was about to leap out at us but finding myself unable. Then Skywalker turned, looked at Chev, and sighed with what sounded like exasperation.

"Not you, too," he muttered when he saw the way that Chev was looking around.

Okay, that did it. I felt as if this kid seriously had no respect for Chev and whatever "bad feelings" Chev was having. Because, trust me—when Chev has a bad feeling, you'd better up and pay attention _or else_.

"And just _what_ is that supposed to mean?" I asked Skywalker, crossing my arms. "You watch the way you talk to him, punk. He's been through a lot; knows a helluva lot of things. If he's keeping an eye on our backs, then he's got a good reason!"

"Whoa, whoa, okay," Skywalker replied, putting his hands up in self-defense. "Easy there. No need to claw my head off."

I just rolled my eyes and ignored him; Force, he could such a _pain_! Chev and I were old enough to be his parents, and Force knew I could stand to sock him one. After all, he more than definitely deserved it. I was indeed about to haul off and whack him, and Chev furrowed his brows at him, but then there was an eerily familiar voice behind us.

"Don't move, Six-Three-Six, or you're dead."

The hair on my neck rose on end, and Skywalker's eyes went wide, so I wheeled around. Standing there, with his EE-3 rifle pressed tightly against Chev's side, was my brother.


	22. Pickup

**Chapter Twenty-one – Pickup **

"How are you, Rogue?" That was the first thing that traitor asked. Already, I was seething with rage. My knife was instantly in my hand, and Skywalker started reaching for the _jetii'kad_ on his belt. I wondered why Chev didn't fight back, didn't try to shoot that _shabuir_ and end this, but then I saw: Boba had taken Chev's rifle and was holding it against his spine. Somewhere along the line, that brother of mine had taken to becoming ambidextrous—I guess for occasions just like this. The way I figured it, if Chev tried to move, he'd get shot and more than likely killed by either rifle, maybe both. I swallowed hard and mustered my courage, glaring at my dishonorable but very well-known brother.

"Boba, _gar aruetii_," I murmured. "What're you after us for _now_?"

"Your two 'friends,' Rogue," he replied, his voice sending shivers down my spine because it was so freakishly like _Jang'buir_'s. He nestled his rifle deeper into Chev's side, and I saw a faint grimace cross Chev's face. "And if you want to spare your . . . _husband_ a painful death, you'll let me take 'em both. _Now._"

Chev ground his teeth angrily, fists clenched. But with two rifles held against him, one being his own, he really had no options that I could see. Oh, sure, he could wheel around and beat the _osik_ out of that _aruetyc_ rodent of a brother I had, but that might not work out well, either. Boba could either kill him by shooting him at point-blank range, or he could get to Chev the hard way by killing _me_. I was trying to find the best solution for this situation, and I could tell Chev was, too; after all, his military training had drilled over and over into his brain the lesson that one should always, always, _always_ look for the best solution to any problem. Currently, I didn't see a best solution. So I decided to be feisty and mouth off, just like I usually did.

"As if I'd _ever_," I hissed, ever so faintly baring my teeth in a snarl. "You try _anything_ and I'll not hesitate to hurt you."

"So this is the brother you mentioned," Skywalker whispered behind me. I sighed and nodded (_di'kutla ad_) before turning back to Boba, fists clenched, eyes narrowed.

"Boba, you get out of here," I said firmly. "If you think that empty threats will make you even _half_ the man your father was, you're _wrong_."

"Oh, I _am_ going," he replied, voice icy. "But if it means so much that I leave you in peace, '_ner vod_' . . ."

He pressed his EE-3 against the back of Chev's head in such a position that one shot would literally splatter Chev's brains across Keldabe. I felt sick to my stomach at just the thought, and my insides turned a series of rapid somersaults. My stomach turned over and landed with in the pit of my gut with a _thud_ so hard I wondered if everyone else had heard it. Chev snarled at Boba before his eyes locked onto mine, just watching me so very closely, as if he were wondering what I was going to do. Frankly, I didn't know _what_ to do. My mind was screaming at me, telling me that this was _my_ fault. If only I hadn't suggested that we volunteer our services to Skywalker . . . If only . . . But that was a lot of uncertainty, not to mention that my fact has been filled with time after time where I'd said "If only." I stared deeply into Chev's eyes, and he blinked, slowly, biting his lip. I got a strange feeling as if he were trying to tell me something. But the strange thing was . . . I saw _fear_ in his eyes, something that had supplanted his original staunchness. But I couldn't get over that feeling that he was trying to talk to me somehow. It was like he _wanted_ to be captured just so I wouldn't try anything stupid, wouldn't get hurt, wouldn't lose the baby. But honestly, I didn't want to lose my husband, either! I swallowed hard as Boba adjusted his rifle's placement against Chev's head and moved Chev's rifle against the side of Chev's neck. I gulped again and nearly jumped sky-high when Skywalker grabbed my shoulder.

"He wants you not to try anything," he murmured, "to just let him go."

I realized then with a sinking feeling that Chev had transmitted his thoughts to Skywalker and that Skywalker was simply relaying them to me. Chev _couldn't_ be serious! My eyes went wide as I stared at both him and Skywalker, and I thought I could see a coldly satisfied smile come over Boba's face even though he was wearing his _buy'ce_.

"Are you insane?!" I shrieked at Skywalker, beginning to feel a sensation of utter helplessness. "And let that . . . that bloodthirsty _killer_ take him?!"

"He'll get out," Skywalker continued, obviously trying to soothe me. Well, tough cookies, kid. I ain't calmed _that_ easily. I was just about ready to flip slap out.

"_You have to be kidding me!_" I screeched, and I heard this low chuckle from my brother.

I wheeled around and stared at Chev, eyes so wide I must've looked pathetic. My throat started going dry as I felt as if I might burst into tears at any moment. Chev gazed mournfully at me, almost as if he were silently apologizing to me. This wasn't _fair_! It wasn't _right_! The way it was supposed to work was that Boba was supposed to come after _Skywalker_! Maybe he nabbed Chev because he still understood I could kick his _shebs_ if I got the chance, and trying to swipe Skywalker would be a good chance. Or maybe . . . maybe he was taking Chev from me so that when he came back for Skywalker, it'd be no challenge. He could just shoot me once and swipe the kid, and then that'd be that. Oh, that would be _nasty_. The tears started coming as Boba put a chokehold around Chev's neck, making him struggle. That EE-3 was leveled right at Skywalker and me, ready to blow us both to bits if we tried anything. At that moment, I felt more helpless than I ever had, and my knife was grasped limply in my hand. I barely noticed when Chev loosened his datapad from his wrist and let it fall to the grass.

"Now," Boba snarled, "don't let your Jedi friend follow me, because if he does, he'll be in a world of pain."

Then he tightened his grip on Chev's neck, and Chev struggled a little harder, making this faint growling sound. Behind me, Skywalker's hands were tight around the hilt of his lightsaber, and he appeared to be two seconds from activating it and slicing Boba julienne. I would've let him, too, if I knew for certain that something awful would _not_ happen to Chev.

"And here I was thinking you were after _me_," Skywalker muttered to Boba.

Then, showing more guts in that one moment than he had to date, he thumbed the switch on the lightsaber, and the blue blade shot out with a _hiss_. Boba paused for a moment as if contemplating what he'd do about the young _jetii_ at my side. I put my hands on my hips, still gripping my knife. Okay, so I technically had to let Chev go this time—oh, _haran_, I did _not_! But there wasn't much I could do about it. Boba once again tightened his grip around Chev's neck and looked right at me.

"Are you going to call off your pet, Rogue," he said, "or will I have to shoot him for you?"

I scowled at him before flipping him _the_ finger.

"I guess I have no choice, _Bo'ika_," I replied, putting extra emphasis on that name just to tick him off. "All right, you have your prey, '_brother_' . . . _this time_. But I'll be watching for you, watching for a chance to give you everything you've earned."

Then I paused and just watched him, thinking back to the days of our youth when we were growing up on Kamino and all was right with the galaxy. I'd give him wedgies, he'd play tricks on me that would scare the _osik_ out of me, we'd play fight, _Jang'buir_ would come and break it up if we roughhoused too hard . . . I sighed and looked at him, wondering when and how this had happened.

"What happened to you, Boba?" I asked, my voice little more than a whisper. "When did you become this much of a killer?"

"When you tried to teach me _your_ way," came the grumbling response.

My heart sank when he said those words. I'd feared that that had been the cause . . . and now I knew it was. I felt hot tears spring to my eyes as he started walking backwards, keeping his rifle trained on Skywalker and me and his arm squeezed tightly around Chev's throat . . . Those tears spilled out as I helplessly watched Chev go even though I immediately started plotting ways to get him back. Skywalker still had his lightsaber active, and he was still softly warning me not to do anything foolish. I saw Chev bite his lip when he was halfway to the _Slave I_ nearby, but then I saw his mouth open and close once or twice. _Oh, Force . . ._ He wasn't about to try to . . . try to . . . Oh, Force, I knew he'd hurt himself if he tried! But his eyes were shadowed with anguish and misery, and I had a feeling he had wanted to stay with me no matter what my brother did to us. But here he was, sacrificing himself _again_, and . . . I swallowed hard as his mouth opened once more and broken _words_ floated through the air back to me.

"R—ro . . . guh . . . h—haaaiii . . . lu . . . luh . . . vuh . . . y—ye—oou . . ."

My heart shattered into a million pieces at those words. Whatever healing he'd had in his vocal cords had now been reversed just so he could tell me he loved me. Tears started running down my face as I took a few powerless steps forward, stretching my hand out for him. I could barely breathe, and I heard Skywalker inhale sharply with shock. He knew what it had taken for Chev to say what he had.

"I know, _cyar'ika_!" I cried after Chev, trying to keep my voice steady but failing miserably. "I swear I'll come for you! Just . . . hold on . . ."

I held my hand out for him as long as I could as if I were holding out some hope that I could summon him to my grasp much like I'd seen Lae and Larra summon their lightsabers. Chev reached out for me as he coughed, and I saw blood trail down his chin. My heart skipped a beat; he'd wounded himself far worse _just to tell me he loved me_. But then Boba shoved him into the _Slave_ and, just like that, he was gone. Again.

My hand fell limply to my side as I watched the _Slave_ vanished into the skies above _Manda'yaim_. And I started to cry bitterly when I couldn't see it anymore. My throat was so tight that I couldn't breathe, and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing into Skywalker's shoulder.

"Why couldn't I do something?!" I wept, pounding my fists into his chest. "I swore I'd never lose him again! Why couldn't I protect him from my own kid _brother_?!"

"Hey, it's okay," Skywalker soothed, rubbing my back. Force, what a sight we were: the Jedi wannabe hugging his Mando bodyguard. That was bound to be scandalous if word of it ever got back to the Rebels. "We'll get him back. He said he'd get out; chances are he's working on an escape plan right now. He seems to be quite resourceful, so don't worry."

Don't worry? _Don't worry?!_ My husband, the love of my life, the father of my child, just got kidnapped by my kid freakin' _brother_, and he says "Don't worry!" Ooh, the moronic behavior I must deal with. I quit bawling at that point, forcibly bringing myself under control, and I glared up at Skywalker.

"No time for a pity party," I said, taking him by surprise. "You and I, kid, are going after him, no questions, no excuses. We've got to head Boba off before he hauls him to Vader or worse."

"What could be worse than Vader?" Skywalker asked, nonplussed.

"Not much," I said, "but trust me, it _can_ get worse. All right, so where's that transport you were talking about?"

"Should be here in a couple minutes. I'll call and see where they are."

"Do. I like knowing if I'm gonna have backup or not."

So Skywalker dug out his comlink and dialed up a frequency. I stood there, staring up at the sky as if trying to telepathically sense where Chev was right at that moment. But remember how I've said I'm no more Force sensitive than a rock? Right. The next second, there was some awfully loud noise from Skywalker's comlink, and I glanced over at it, then him.

"Sounds like . . . a Wookiee," I muttered. He nodded slowly.

That voice—most definitely a Wookiee's—roared deafeningly before a second voice shouted in response.

"_Shut _up_, you furball! We don't have _time_ for anyone on the blasted com!!"_

I chuckled, and Skywalker instantly brought the comlink to his mouth.

"Whoa, Han, chill!" he called. "It's me, Luke!"

"Tell me your little friend isn't _always_ like that . . ." I muttered.

"_Luke?"_ this "Han" person replied. _"Force, kid, you couldn't have picked a better time!"_ The Wookiee moaned a loud agreement. _"Anyway, her Highness-ness asked us to come an' get ya, although seein' Fett flyin' away caused us a bit of a spook . . ."_

"Well, that's handy," Skywalker sighed, sarcasm thick on his words. "He didn't shoot at you, did he?"

"Knowing Boba?" I scoffed. "Probably did."

Skywalker motioned for me to shut up, but I just shrugged, looking up and shielding my eyes against the sun. High above, I could see a battered old freighter cruising along, starting to head to our position.

"_Oh, really, seein' the price Jabba's still got on my head? Of course he kriffin' shot us! Nearly blew the hyperdrive to pieces . . ."_

The Wookiee on the other end of the comm roared a disagreement.

"Not_ the hyperdrive? Huh. That's a first . . ."_

"At least you're in one piece," Skywalker said. "Listen, we've got a bit of a situation. Did Leia brief you on why you were sent out here?"

"_Yeah. Your bodyguards skipped town and left you without transport . . . or somethin'."_

"They didn't skip town, Han. I let them go visit a friend. Anyway, yes, we do need the transport service. But did she tell you anything about these . . . ahem . . . bodyguards?"

I rolled my eyes; this kid was beating around the bush too much, and if he didn't knock it off, he'd end up costing Chev his life. So I snatched the comlink from his hand, ignored his surprised "Hey!", and turned my attention to the person on the other side.

"Listen, you, whoever you are," I said firmly. "The name's Rogue Fett. Yeah, I'm aware of my last name. But I _happen_ to be one of Skywalker's bodyguards. The other's my husband; that stupid brother of mine took him at literal gunpoint, and _we_ have to get him back. You can help since you're here anyway and we have no other method of getting off Mandalore."

"_Ease up there!"_ came the rather uneasy reply. _"All right, we're heading down to where y'all are right now, so if you keep your shorts straight for a few, we'll be there in no time."_

"Thank you very much," I replied, all business-like. Then I switched off the comlink and tossed it back to Skywalker, frowning at him. "Seriously, kid, we don't have all day to sit around and chit-chat."

"I _get_ that," Skywalker answered, and I got the feeling that I'd miffed him. "But would you quit calling me 'kid'?"

"Would you prefer 'punk'?"

He growled at me as his fists clenched, and I just smirked at him in spite of the pain I felt in my chest from letting Chev slip through my fingers. I loved him; I always had. So how could I have been so stupid as to stand down from my kid brother?! I didn't have an answer for that; I wasn't sure if I ever would. I didn't get long to think on this, though, because a moment later, a beat-up old smuggling vessel landed not too far off. I had this sudden moment of "What the _haran_?" as I looked at it, because I recognized it from a handful of reports on the HoloNet. What I had here, staring me in the face, was the _Millennium Falcon_. Oh, _osi'kyr_ . . . Another two seconds passed before this _huge_ brown Wookiee lumbered out of the ship, followed by a man that, had I not already been married, would've readily called "roguishly dashing." Those two walked up to Skywalker and me, and the man (who I figured was the Han fellow from the comlink) frowned as he looked me over. I frowned at _him_ as I looked _him_ over; figured I'd better return the service. Then he crossed his arms and glanced at Skywalker.

"All right, kid, you wanna explain the Fett girl here?"

"Right. Rogue, Han Solo. Han, Rogue."

And yet . . . he didn't explain the fact that I was a Fett. Probably because he didn't know the answer himself.

"I'd say it's a pleasure except for the fact that at this moment, it isn't," I said. "Listen, Solo, I'll explain things _myself_. When I was six, Jango Fett adopted me. That's how I'm me and that's how I'm here. The story's much longer than that but we don't have time, nor do I really want to share it. But I assure you that I'm _nothing_ like my brother."

"Easy, a' right?!" Solo exclaimed, hands raised in mock self-defense. "I'm just here 'cause Her Worshipfulness asked me to be, and, since the two of you need my ship, then I'm doing what she'd lecture me to do but in my own way. Are we all clear?"

"Perfectly," I answered. "But just so you know, because it's _my_ husband we're rescuing. _I_ call the shots."

Solo's eyebrows shot skyward as Skywalker muttered "Bad move, bad move, bad move" behind me.

"Nuh-uh," Solo replied, "you ain't calling the shots on MY girl, got it?!"

The Wookiee (whose name I later learned was Chewbacca, Chewie for short) howled in what sounded like a contradicting statement. Solo scowled at him.

"Hey, the _Falcon_ _is_ mine! I was the one that won her, not you!"

"Really?" I asked with much sarcasm, eyebrow arched. "You _won_ her? And whose was she before then?"

"Don't wanna go there . . ." Skywalker mumbled, and I turned around and shot him the nastiest glare I knew.

"Oh, hush," I hissed. "I'm _trying_ to rescue Chev from that _di'kutla_ kid brother of mine. And _you_, Solo, will just _have_ to follow my lead."

I put my hands on my hips and just _glared_. Solo glared right back at me, and it seemed to me as if Skywalker and the Wookiee were beginning to find some form of entertainment in this standoff.

"_I_ won her fair and square!" Solo barked. "_And_, since she's _my_ ship, you'll have to answer to _my_ shots! I ain't the captain of my own ship without a reason!"

I dunno about you, but I'd had _enough_ of this cocky, arrogant, self-centered _brat_ of a captain. I took a step closer to him, jaw tight, eyes narrowed, and there was the sound of metal scraping against metal as I flicked my wrist and worked my knife up and down in its sheath. I heard Skywalker try to smother a chuckle, and Chewbacca woofed lightly in Wookiee laughter. Obviously this little battle of the sexes was funnier to them than it was to me.

"This is _my_ mission," I said firmly, voice low. "_My_ husband. _My_ brother. _You_ are just along for the ride!" Skywalker tried to tell me that was a bad move, but I wheeled around on him. "SHUDDUP!"

The next moment, Solo went for his blaster, and I noted that it seemed like an instinctive motion.

"I'd like to see you try to take control," he growled.

Oh, so he wanted to be threatening, eh? Well, two could play _that_ game. I flicked my wrist, and in a split second, my knife was in my hand and pressed against Solo's throat, pressing firmly against his Adam's apple. Skywalker quit snickering, and Chewbacca went silent, too, as I glared at the good captain.

"You just _saw_ me try," I hissed. "Want me to try harder? Maybe you'd like it sliced julienne. Or perhaps diced."

"Rogue!" Skywalker called out to me. "Whoa, easy there! No reason for this to get violent!"

"It has _every_ reason," I replied, keeping my voice low and calm but still full of that icy venom that _Jang'buir_ had possessed and I now called my own. "Every second we spend here is probably a second off Chevron's life. THAT I will _not_ allow."

I must've touched a bit of a nerve with Solo, because his eyes flashed once before he took on this "eh, no big" expression. Okay, so he was obviously a grade-A scoundrel, capable of making his life worthless under any circumstances.

"Does it look like I care all that much?" he asked suavely. I frowned and leaned in closer.

"Actually, it _does_. You're a liar, Solo, but not a very good one. Your eyes show fear. Hard to think that's possible, but it is. Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to show you just what your blood looks like?"

_That_ was a language the man understood, _ner vode_, because he swore mildly under his breath before backing down. I nodded in satisfaction as he glanced distastefully at me before looking over at the _Falcon_.

"Sheesh, women these days," he muttered. "First the princess, now you . . . What's next?"

"If I ever have a daughter," I said, wondering to myself just what I was having anyway, "you'll have _her_ to deal with. But until then, you only have my sister Larra and _her_ daughter to worry about."

I chuckled dryly as I returned my knife to its hidden sheath, and Skywalker came up alongside me, telling me how "well" that situation was handled. Solo muttered his own sarcastic response to that before turning and heading for the _Falcon_, striding ever so arrogantly up the ramp. Chewbacca paused a moment and rumbled something that sounded apologetic; I'd be darned if I could understand him. Shyriiwook was never my thing. But Skywalker apparently had a grasp of all the growls and grunts, because he reached out and patted the big hairy hamhock paw.

"Don't worry about it, Chewie," he said. "She's just a little freaked out. Nerves are probably shot. And everybody's running on adrenaline right now."

"No frackin' duh," I muttered, staring up at the _huge_ Wookiee towering at least two feet above me. "But the quicker we find Boba, the happier I'll be."

Then, ever the one who was bound and determined to get her way, I strode up the _Falcon_'s loading ramp, eventually finding myself in the cockpit after a direction or two from Chewbacca that Skywalker translated for me. There was Solo, getting the ship all ready to fly again—if it even would, judging from its rust-bucket exterior. I mean, the _Chevron_ looked better than this, and it was maybe twice as old! I took up a position behind the pilot's seat as Chewbacca jogged up to take the co-pilot's spot.

"Solo, quick question," I said, and Solo grunted an acknowledgment. Oh, yeah, this was gonna be _great_. Sarcasm much. "Did you _happen_ get a trajectory on the _Slave_?"

Solo sighed and consulted his instrument panel, flipping a few switches before staring at a screen. He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at me.

"Headin' towards . . . Looks like he's heading for some random point in space," he said. "That's dumb . . . oh, unless . . ."

He went "Hmm" and frowned a bit, eyes narrowed in thought. I leaned over his shoulder, studying the screen. It was just as he said: the _Falcon_'s instruments had picked up the _Slave_'s trajectory, and the latter was now headed for some blank spot in the middle of nowhere. I crossed my arms, immediately mulling this oddity over.

"There can't be anything out there in the middle of nothing," I said. "And I know for a fact he probably wouldn't be taking Chev to Coruscant. After all, not only is that route aimed in the opposite direction of the Core, but the Empire has also lost Chevron from their . . . _brainwashing facilities_ two too many times."

"That many?" Skywalker asked, settling down in the seat behind Chewbacca. He looked shocked or even concerned. "My Force."

He paused, and I took that opportunity to nod slowly. That was _not_ a pleasant memory on any account, even if it _was_ seventeen years old. Then again, the nastiest memories never leave a person, no matter how many happy things attempt to cover it.

_Why you, _Chev'ika I asked silently. _Why you?_

Of course, I was pretty sure that I knew the answer, and that was _me_. He had no doubt wanted to protect me, protect our child, protect Skywalker. And then, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't erase from my mind his broken, halting words of "Rogue, I love you," and I certainly couldn't forget how he'd reversed whatever healing had taken place on his vocal cords just to tell me that. I couldn't forget seeing that blood dribble from his mouth and down his chin, nor could I forget the tears I'd seen trail down his face. It left a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I crossed my arms and sighed. Now I had even better reasons for getting him back, as if loving him and being his wife weren't good enough.

It was silent in the _Falcon_'s cockpit for a long time, with only the beeping and chirping of the instrument panel and the occasional grunt from Chewbacca to break the silence. Skywalker suddenly took a breath, and I glanced over at him. He had one finger outstretched as if he were about to make some grand speech. He looked at me, blue eyes compassionate but also raging with a lust to get a shot at Boba; _that_ I found unusual for a _jetii_ wannabe.

"Maybe Fett's headed for the middle of nowhere because there's an ISD out there," he suggested, and I about fell out of my chair. He had just come up with a rather brilliant idea! Now, I'm sure he was a very intelligent lad, but the way he'd been acting to this point hadn't proved anything of that sort. I blinked before nodding.

"Sounds logical," I said, silently approving. He smiled at me ever so faintly.

"Most likely a flagship," Solo added. "Maybe even _Vader's_, since Fett's his personal kath hound."

Chewbacca grumped an agreement, and I grumbled under my breath. Things had just gone from difficult to "like hell we're gonna succeed!" I had _never_ wanted to go back to _Executor_, but . . . well . . . since this was my husband that we needed to rescue, I figured I could make an exception. My personal comfort versus Chev's safety. I'm gonna have to go with Chev's safety. Yeah, I'm just goofy like that.

"Oh, _haar'chak_," I muttered. "Well, that's just _great_. Like they're going to allow us in _there_ to make a good, ol' fashioned rescue." I sighed and pursed my lips as my brows furrowed in thought. "_Executor_. That's where he's being taken, no doubt. I don't like this."

"No kidding," Skywalker agreed. "This could get . . . messy, to put it plainly."

"But we have to do it," I argued. "I'm not gonna sit back and just let Chev get taken like that!"

"Then if you want even a chance of getting him back," Solo said, turning and looking at me, "we need to get a move on. You wanna chase Fett or what?"

"Do it," I answered firmly, not giving it another thought. "We're going out there, and we're gonna give that _chakaar_ everything he's had coming to him."

Solo nodded and turned back to the controls, gave Chewbacca a few orders, and the next moment, the _Falcon_ lurched forward. Solo muttered an apology, I sighed, and Skywalker rolled his eyes as we eased up from the ground. Now, I'll admit, the _Falcon_ was quite the beautiful girl; maybe she'd even been through a space battle or two. But she was the definition of "rust-bucket," and I had the scary feeling that I could meet my dear and fluffy higher power because of this ship. Oh yeah. This was gonna be _great_. But I tried to relax as I leaned back in my seat, holding on when Solo told me to. The moment after he said that, he pulled back on a lever on the control panel, the hyperdrive whined, and then we shot off into hyperspace. I frowned a bit.

"Y'know, you oughtta get that h-drive looked at," I said.

Solo just swore at me. Men and their ships. I just hoped he'd be a better sport when it came time to rescue Chev from my brother's evil clutches. Maybe we'd even have a spot of good luck and be able to rescue him before he was delivered to Vader. I could only hope for that as we zipped along at lightspeed, and I glanced out the window, watching the stars streak past. What I would've given for a vacation after this was all over and Chev was back in my arms. After all, I'd heard Naboo was nice that time of year.


	23. Executor

**A/N:** I know it's short. Sorry about that, but it IS a chapter, right? Heh...

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-two – **_**Executor**_

Several long hours dragged tiresomely past for Chevron, for he was locked in the _Slave I_'s cargo hold, bound in a position that was causing every muscle in his body to ache and cramp painfully. He was just about to try to shift his weight when the ship ground to a halt, jarring him. Just from that, he knew the _Slave_ had come to a halt, and as he tried to move, he managed to wipe the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked down at the red staining his gauntlet and sighed to himself; he had sacrificed that just to struggle out his last sentence to Rogue. In his mind, he could still see that look of horrified shock and love in her eyes: horror and shock that he had tried to speak to her and love that needed no explanation. He certainly knew he might never again say another word after that, but if the last sounds his vocal cords ever formed were the words "I love you," then it would be worth it.

He was trying to adjust his position again when Fett stormed in and dragged him to his feet. Chevron scowled at the man who was his brother-in-law by Rogue but his full brother by blood. How anyone could be so cruel, so heartless, he had no idea. He wrestled in Fett's hard grasp, but the bounty hunter ignored him as he dragged his quarry out into a spacious, dark gray-toned hangar bay. It only took Chevron a moment to realize where he was: the hangar bay of Darth Vader's flagship, _Executor_. His stomach turned a somersault as his eyes fell on that intimidating black figure waiting there. Vader's hands were resting on his belt, yet even with that Chevron had the striking sensation that the Dark Lord was none too pleased with the situation. He allowed himself a silent snarl as Fett shoved him at Vader; he stumbled, but he did not fall. He _wouldn't_ fall; he would not be humiliated like that.

He felt Vader's gaze latch onto him, and Vader just _looked_ at him for a long, tense moment. His expression was unreadable because of his easily identifiable helmet, but then his rumbling voice boomed out.

"Well done, bounty hunter," he thundered. "You failed to bring me Skywalker, but since we have our little experiment back, I suppose that failure can be excused this once."

He looked down at Chevron again, sneering at him even through the helmet.

"Welcome _home_, traitor."

Chevron bared his teeth, bolstering his courage by being insolent. Force, but there were _so_ many things he would've loved to say to Vader; there were so many insults he could've flung in both Mando'a and Basic, but now he had to settle for cold, hateful facial expression. If only Rogue were there . . . _She_ would've been able to say enough for both of them. He kept snarling at Vader like that before Fett brutally whacked his shoulder, knocking him off-balance.

"He's _mute_ now," Fett grumbled as if he expected his payment to be considerably less since he'd brought in defective prey. "Got his neck sliced open."

Seething with anger and hatred toward the _chakaar_ of a brother-in-law that Fett was, Chevron spat at him, upper lip twitching ever so faintly. Fett glanced down at his chestplate and nonchalantly wiped it clean. Vader's gaze was again latched firmly onto Chevron, and the sigh that came from him was one of false concern.

"A pity. But there is always some way of mending any situation. Perhaps a few little cybernetic implants would repair the problem."

He chuckled darkly as he flicked his wrist, and the tone in his voice caused Chevron to jump in fear. As Vader stayed to pay Fett for his services, two Stormtroopers almost materialized there in the hangar. Before Chevron could move, they clamped binders around his wrists and dragged him away, hurling insults at him, kicking him, and smacking him upside the back and shoulders with the butt ends of their rifles. And yet, somehow, Chevron managed to keep his head up. He conjured up image after image of Larra mowing these pathetic troopers down with one lazy swing of her lightsaber, and the thought of that was quite the comfort. He also thought that these were just mouthy troopers with nothing better to do before one of them sneered at him, "Never thought I'd be ordering _you_ around, _captain_." He winced as he realized these two were from one of the Stormtrooper training groups he'd overseen so many long weeks ago. By the time he realized that, however, the two troopers had tossed him rather callously into a cold, dark cell in _Executor_'s prison block, leaving him bruised, alone, and even frightened although he didn't show that emotion. Nevertheless, when he was abandoned in that cell, he almost clung to the wall, silently wishing that Rogue or anyone else he knew were there with him. He felt almost selfish for wishing to share the cramped little cell with Rogue; after all, she was carrying their child and was under too much stress as it were. But he _so_ would've loved to have had company—maybe Sevvie. Or Scorch. Lae and Trent, even. _Anyone_ so he wouldn't be as alone as he was.

Heavy footsteps thudded outside the cell door, and Chevron drew himself back into a dark corner of the cell. It didn't take him long to realize that he recognized that particular footfall pattern. Vader was coming, no doubt to torture him. It was unlikely that Vader would have any need of interrogating Chevron; the pleasure of torturing a prisoner certainly seemed to better fit the Sith Lord's personality. He stiffened as the cell door hissed open and Vader strode in, two Stormtroopers entering after him and another two standing guard at the door. Chevron dragged himself to his feet, glaring hatefully at Vader and stubbornly crossing his arms. Vader just glanced at him in what seemed like amusement. Outside in the prison corridor echoed a low, monotone beeping.

"And now, Six-Three-Six," Vader rumbled, "we shall see if life outside the Empire has dulled your resilience."

The monotone beeping grew louder . . . louder . . . Chevron stiffened at the sound as he recognized it. A moment later, the spherical shape of an Imperial interrogation droid appeared in the doorway as the droid hovered closer to Vader, needles and various other nefarious torture tools at the ready. Even beneath the helmet, it was obvious that Vader was allowing himself a cruel smirk of satisfaction even though the evident torture had not yet begun. Chevron's blood ran cold as he warily eyed the droid, and a second later, Vader's deep voice spoke one chilling word.

"Begin."


	24. Reclones and Torture

**Chapter Twenty-three – Re-clones and Torture**

He didn't know how long that horrible torture lasted. All he knew was that it hurt so terribly that he would've loved to have let go of all consciousness. He wanted Rogue there with him so her cool hands could press on every place that hurt and take the pain away. As he lay there, crumpled on the floor of his cell with eyes squeezed shut, he almost thought he heard her voice barking insults and swear words at Vader and his minions. He chuckled weakly to himself, pressing his palm into the cold floor and struggling to heft himself from the unfeeling floor panels. Force, it hurt . . . Every inch of him ached, and he hissed in a breath when the sturdy toe of a boot prodded into his throbbing side. The next moment, a datapad was flung to the floor beside him, and he cracked an eye open to find Vader standing there, looming over him like the villain he was. Vader chuckled when he saw Chevron glaring up at him.

"Your interrogation went well; don't you agree?" he sneered. "You certainly did withstand more than I would've expected."

Snarling under his breath, Chevron lifted his hand in a rude gesture before dragging the datapad over to him, tapping at it a minute before holding it up.

GO TO HELL.

Vader chuckled again, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"You've been around Rogue far too much," he observed, "and have picked up several of her crude habits. You were _much_ too fine to have become entangled with the likes of her. You see, Six-Three-Six, she has no true emotions. The memory wipe she underwent erased that from her. Otherwise . . . she would have fought to keep you from being brought back to me."

Beneath his helmet, Vader smirked triumphantly as he folded his arms for a moment. Chevron fervently shook his head, fists clenched as he forced himself up into a sitting position, wincing with every move he made. He clutched the datapad, his only means of communication. Oh, what he would've given to be able to insult Vader to his mask . . .

YOU LYING _CHAKAAR_. YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD ME FOR ALL THOSE MONTHS, BUT YOU NEVER DID. SHE SACRIFICED ME BECAUSE SHE KNOWS THAT IF SHE WERE CAUGHT, YOU'D KILL US BOTH. I SACRIFICED MYSELF FOR HER OWN SAFETY, AS WELL AS THE SAFETY OF MY NEICE AND NEPHEW. YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WIN AGAIN!

"And here you are, thinking you're the hero," Vader mocked. "Saving her, saving the others, on and on. Didn't you ever wonder why all those times you told her you loved her, she only replied with a simple 'I know'? She didn't even reply. _Think_ about _that_."

Chevron frowned deeply; he knew what the Dark Lord was attempting. It wasn't that difficult to see that Vader was attempting to lure him into his service by using conniving lies and threats. He latched his angry gaze onto Vader's mask as if trying to drill through the plastoid to see whoever was beneath.

SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO. WE SWORE SO LONG AGO THAT WE WOULD ALWAYS LOVE EACH OTHER; WE NEED NO OTHER WORDS. YOU DON'T _GET_ LOVE, DO YOU, VADER? OR SHOULD I SAY . . . _ANAKIN_?

He smirked faintly, almost triumphantly, as he waited for Vader's reaction. The Dark Lord stiffened extremely noticeably as his gloved fists clenched into deadly weapons. He fixed a cold, cruel glare on Chevron, seeming almost tempted to just strangle him and be done with it.

"Don't you _ever_ mention that name again," he hissed. "I am not so far removed that I cannot crush you. And don't you get philosophical about love with _me_. You're _nothing_ to me, and I will not stoop to this petty argument with you. All I require is that you think about it. Whenever did Rogue do something for you that was solely for _you_?"

Chevron's frown deepened as his eyes grew chilly. That icy, hateful glare spoke volumes in ways that he himself could not. He held up the datapad, a determined fire flashing in the farthest depths of his eyes.

SHE SAVED ME FROM AN ETERNAL LIFE OF IMPERIAL SERVITUDE. SHE HELPED ME REMEMBER MY OLD LIFE, MY _REAL_ LIFE. SHE HAS SAVED ME, AND I'M TRYING TO REPAY THE DEBT.

"Oh, that's touching," Vader mocked with a scoff as he forcibly grabbed Chevron's arm and dragged him to his feet. "Pathetic, but still touching."

His mask was little more than two inches from Chevron's face, and his mechanical breathing was so loud that it was beginning to make the ARC's ears ring. Vader clutched his prey tighter, staring him down.

"But somewhere in those deeds was a motive for personal gain for her," he rumbled. "Don't doubt it. Any child of Jango Fett is as conniving as he was." He smirked beneath his mask for a moment. "But come. We have had quite enough of this dull discussion. I've something to show you."

With an inaudible growl, Chevron yanked his arm from Vader's steel grip and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. Vader just looked mildly amused.

"Very well. You may be stubborn, but you're still coming with me."

When he flicked his wrist, a pair of Stormtroopers marched in and clamped binders around Chevron's wrists. Then he turned and strode from the cell, long black cape swirling about his heavy boots. The Stormtroopers followed, Chevron in tow, and the group meandered down long, twisting corridors. It seemed to Chevron as if they were headed for a part of _Executor_ that he hadn't even known existed. At the end of the corridors was a wide platform, enclosed by glass and overlooking . . . a training arena? No, that couldn't be right . . . Yet as Chevron was thrust so close up against the shield that his breath formed vapor against the glass, he realized that is was so. And hundreds—no, _thousands_ of soldiers were training down below. That in itself reminded him of his days on Kamino, and a knot formed in his stomach as Vader motioned to the scene below.

"Look there, Six-Three-Six," he said. "Do any of those faces look . . . familiar?"

Chevron slowly gazed down at the unmasked clones, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he realized that he _did_ recognize them. Each of them looked like Sevvie or one of the Deltas . . . He staggered back, suddenly realizing what was happening, what the Empire was doing. Vader could so easily use these clones to trick Larra, to trick the Alliance . . . then he could do whatever he wanted with the originals. Rage surged through him as his fists clenched, and Vader turned slightly, allowing his consciousness to glide across Chevron's so he could sense his prisoner's thought.

"Oh, but you _are_ clever," he said. "I hadn't doubted you would be able to figure out my plans. Unfortunately, you are the only one of you, and there will never be a replica of Tau-000. She was . . . too unpredictable. An army like her would be a stumbling block for the Empire. But the others . . . No, they're _perfect_."

Chevron just glared angrily at Vader as he turned back to stare in shock at the dozens of clones, the hundreds of faces that he knew so very well even though he . . . _didn't_. A moment later, he noticed that one of them had stopped and was staring up at him. It was a Sevvie copy, he noted, and his face had a look of utter concentration on it. Chevron wondered with a stab of sympathy what was going through that poor re-clone's head. Yet, from the corner of his eye, he saw Vader turn and quickly motion to the two guards standing close by.

"Bring me that one . . . the curious one," he said, pointing down at the Sevvie replica. His finger roved through the air before he pointed at another clone—one that was most definitely a copy of Boss. "Bring me him as well. Those two will do perfectly. Bring them; they will relieve you."

The Stormtroopers saluted and darted off, and in a few minutes, they brought the copies, armed and armored, to Vader. They saluted almost hesitantly, and Vader nodded.

"Good," he said. "Your first assignment. This one is _dangerous_. You will be required to keep him under constant guard. He must _not_ be allowed any outside contact. Understood?"

The replica of Boss nodded and saluted again.

"Yes, Lord Vader," he said, his voice identical to Boss's. "We won't let him out of our sight."

Chevron looked the replica up and down; he looked so much like the original Boss that it would be impossible to tell the two apart. The Sevvie replica saluted as well, rifle held against his shoulder, offering his own acknowledgment of Vader's orders. Vader nodded with evident satisfaction.

"Excellent," he said. "You may escort him back to his cell. I have no more use for him today."

The Sevvie replica eyed Chevron curiously before motioning for him to move along as Vader remained standing at that viewpoint, observing the new clone troops. Chevron started at a slow, almost hesitant shuffle, but the Boss replica rather gently—that was unexpected—touched his arm.

"Hurry it up, will you?" he murmured. "I think all three of us want to get away from Lord Vader at the moment."

"Currently, yes," the Sevvie replica added, voice equally low. "The quicker I can get out of here, the better. He's a bit . . . overpowering."

Surprised, Chevron picked up his pace, and after a few minutes when Vader's mechanical breathing had passed beyond the range of hearing, the Boss replica let out a distinctly audible sigh.

"Gad that's over with," he muttered before looking at Chevron. "Why're you so special, anyway?"

He scrutinized Chevron as the ARC tugged out the datapad that had been tossed at him back in his cell. He tapped at it for a moment before holding it up. The Sevvie replica glanced over his shoulder to read it, as well.

I WAS ONE OF THE FIRST RE-CLONES, BUT I REMEMBERD MY OLD LIFE, GENETIC MEMORY AND ALL.

"Wow," the Sevvie replica marveled. "That's . . . surprising. That shouldn't have happened, to be honest. The way the process works, it only makes exact _physical_ replicas. It doesn't normally replace the memories of the originals."

He paused a moment as they passed an officer, and both he and the Boss replica straightened their posture so they would look more "official," or at least more like Stormtroopers escorting a highly dangerous prisoner. But once they were past and the officer had nodded his approval, the Sevvie replica (Chevron decided to silently refer to him as Sevvie Two and the other as Boss Two) turned back slightly, glancing at Chevron.

"No wonder you're important," he said. "Bet Vader wants you in for . . . _analysis_."

Chevron stared at him with wide, terrified eyes before he typed madly at his datapad.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ANALYSIS?! I WON'T LET THEM SECTION MY BRAIN!

"I don't know _what_ it means," Boss Two replied with a sigh. "I just know that a few of the . . . more unstable . . . ones of us went off for 'analysis' and never came back. Who knows _what_ they do to them in that lab. But I heard a few rumors that they get them in there, study them, and then pick out all their weaknesses. Then they try to fix those weaknesses through surgeries and cybernetics, but . . . a lot of those guys don't survive . . ."

As fear started to take a hold on him, Chevron started hyperventilating just a bit. He'd spent time in the Kaminoan lab so many years ago; his memories of it were none too pleasant. Just thinking about what they could do to him in _this_ lab made him want to climb a wall. Boss Two gently took his shoulder.

"Hey, it's all right," he soothed. "I bet someone's out there trying to get you out, right?" Chevron nodded, and Boss Two patted his shoulder. "So you just have to hold out. I bet they just want to ask some questions and see what they can do about your voice. Although . . . the rumors are partway true . . ."

Chevron shivered as his thoughts drifted to Rogue. There was no way in _haran_ he was going to let them harm him, not if he could do something about it, not if he could fight! Sevvie Two sighed.

"Yeah, I bet they just want to fix your vocal cords to get you back in . . . _working order_."

He said those words as if he'd lived his life being treated like little more than an organic droid, and while Chevron wondered about that, Sevvie Two didn't elaborate. Instead, he and Boss Two straightened as another officer crossed their path, and before too much longer, they were back at the prison block. They led Chevron down the hall back to his cell, where they opened the door to let him in. Just before they shut and locked the door, though, Sevvie Two stuck his head around the corner.

"Listen, we're out here," he said. "They say you're not supposed to have any outside contact, but . . ." He smirked wickedly. "There are . . . ways . . . of talking through a cell door."

Chevron beamed, nodding. Perhaps this copy of Sevvie was more like the original than he'd thought. Boss Two noticed the smile on Chevron's face, and he, too, stuck his head around the corner.

"So, you have a name?" he asked. "Or a sig, or . . . whatever?"

Chevron took to his datapad once more, holding it up with slightly more enthusiasm.

I'M CHEVRON FETT. YOU GOT NAMES?

Boss Two shook his head as Sevvie two shrugged.

"Nah, sorry," he said. "Not even numbers, really. The first one of us was Zero-Zero-One, so it just went from there. So I'm . . ." He paused a moment, looking thoughtful as he tried to recall his number. "I'm Zero-Two-Four, I think. I keep forgetting . . . We never use them."

"I'm something like . . . One-Three-Eight or some such," Boss Two added with a half-hearted shrug.

Chevron stared at him, fairly dumbstruck. First this copy was identical to Boss in every respect, and now his _number_ was practically the same, too?! This was strange. It was almost like a nightmare after which Chevron would wake up, find Rogue next to him, and know that the only Boss around was the original three doors down in his room. But he shrugged and gave a nod of thanks as he turned and went into his cell, taking up a cross-legged position on the painfully hard bunk there. The door hissed shut, leaving him to prepare for whatever torture the Empire might inflict on him next.

* * *

Almost a full day passed. From a quick glance at his chrono, Chevron knew it was very early in the morning: three o'clock. He hadn't slept a wink, but he couldn't have if he'd tried. He was too uptight with nervous anticipation. When there was a faint scratching noise outside his cell, he nearly hit the ceiling. Then the door hissed open as a sad-faced Sevvie Two stuck his head around the corner. His eyes were dark, forlorn . . . Chevron didn't want to think about what could have happened.

"Hey, uh," Sevvie Two began, "time to come out. I've gotta take you down to the, erm . . . Analysis Lab."

Contrary to what might normally be expected of Imperial troops, he looked guilty and even apologetic that this was what must be done. Chevron started in surprise; he'd thought he'd have at least a few days to get used to sitting alone in a dimly lit prison cell. Yet he slowly stood and inched his way toward the cell door, looking around for the copy of Boss but seeing no one else. He curiously arched an eyebrow at Sevvie Two, who sighed morosely.

"Y—yeah, they . . . they took him too," he said. "I think I might be next . . . Don't wanna be. No tellin' what goes on behind those doors." He sighed and shuddered somewhat as he motioned with his blaster rifle out into the hall. "Oh, well. C'mon . . . let's go."

Chevron stepped hesitantly out into the hall as Sevvie Two dropped into line behind him, directing him down the long, dark corridors to that dreaded lab. The whole time, his eyes were darting anxiously around as he looked for some way to escape and never be seen again. There _had_ to be some way out of this, after all . . . And yet, as if he knew what was going through his charge's mind, Sevvie Two sighed thinly.

"No way out," he murmured. "I already looked. Thought maybe I could sneak our buddy out before they took him. But hey; I wouldn't worry. Bet they just want to fit you with some cybernetic vocal cord replacements."

He offered a helpful little grin, which Chevron returned even though his was strained. Just seeing this trooper made him miss his brother ever so much; how much like the real Sevvie this one was! The two walked along in silence through some narrow hallways, and sooner than Chevron would've liked, they arrived at the dreaded Analysis Lab, that hellhole that was the scourge of every re-clone ever to walk the corridors of _Executor_. The pair passed through several thick, durasteel blast doors before emerging in a brightly lit, stark white room. There were several doors scattered around, each leading to other parts of the lab. Chevron's stomach twisted into a knot as a technician in a long, white lab coat arrived and waved Sevvie Two away. The trooper offered Chevron an encouraging nod and a faint smile as two other guards escorted him back out the door, leaving Chevron alone with this technician. He swallowed hard before noticing that the scientist was unusually friendly-looking. That was . . . abnormal, to say the least, of anyone in the Empire's service.

"I _do_ hope we didn't startle you by requesting you come in," the tech said, almost gently. "You see, we've been _very_ eager to study you."

Chevron's eyes darted around the room with fright. This was much too much like Kamino for his liking, and Force knew his life there hadn't been all sunshine and roses, save his rendezvous with Rogue and his fellowship with his _vode_. And yet . . . this tech didn't seem quite as cold and heartless as the _kaminiise_ had. Perhaps he'd be all right. Oh, who was he fooling? The Empire was _never_ courteous to their test subjects. He licked his lips—which were dry from his fear—ever so slowly as he waited for the technician to continue. The tech said nothing more but instead motioned Chevron off toward one of the opposite doors. Inside was a vast array of medical equipment, but in the center of the room was a cold metal slab positioned at a forty-five-degree angle . . . with straps across it. Chevron immediately knew what was happening. They were going to tie him down and then do Force knew what to him.

_Rogue, I wish you were here,_ he thought miserably as two or three more techs entered the test room.

"I hope you don't think us cruel for this," the first tech said as he helped get Chevron strapped firmly to the table, "but this is necessary for the kinds of tests we run."

He came to Chevron's side, bearing a hypodermic needle. Force knew what was in that thing . . . It could have been anything from sedatives to some sort of liquid laced with life-threatening diseases.

"Now, you won't feel much," the tech said, squirting a bit of the needle's contents into the air and making Chevron flinch violently. "We'll sedate you. We just want to see how your brain functions and study what makes you so different from the rest of these re-clones."

Chevron tried so, so hard not to hyperventilate, but it was getting difficult to even think straight now. Anxiety was setting in because he had one nasty feeling about what was about to happen to him. The other techs were scattered around the room, setting up various equipment, and the one at his side just patted his shoulder before taking his arm.

"It's all right," he said. "We're not going to cut you open or anything."

Then he stabbed the needle into Chevron's arm, and Chevron flinched again. Force, he hated it whenever someone touched him unexpectedly like that. His being prone to flinching at unanticipated contact was a holdover from his pre-ARC days . . . back before he'd been selected from the common infantry for higher, better training. He shuddered at the thought of what he'd been through. That horrible Sergeant Vau . . . He hoped the _shabuir_ was dead. Yet thinking about something else didn't take his mind off the present. The technician was still talking to him.

"You see, you have the memories of the original," he said. "That wasn't supposed to happen. We want to know why and see how it happened. Just a few electrodes attached to you is all . . ."

As he said this, he proceeded to hook those electrodes to Chevron's temples and forehead. Chevron never even felt the sedatives get injected into him, and they certainly weren't having any effect, because he was still shaking ever so violently. He was so very afraid . . . What he wouldn't have given to have had one of his friends nearby to take him away from this place! If Rogue were there, she would've sliced the techs to pieces and taken him home! Larra would've let into them all with her lightsaber, and she would've used that weapon to slice apart all that horrible medical equipment. The both of them would've just held him and promised that no one would _ever_ come at him with needles again. He just wanted to go home, wanted to be away from here, wanted to strangle that _chakaar_ Boba for bringing him to this horrible place . . . He barely heard the tech mention how he'd have to give Chevron _more_ sedatives and how that was "unnatural," how the other re-clones could stand up to this while conscious. Chevron wished so badly that he could scream at them and shout out the entire story of why he was so afraid of this. He'd start with Kamino before telling them about _Lusankya_, how he almost lost himself . . . He flinched violently when the tech came at him with a larger needle, and he started shaking his head wildly. If only he could get at his datapad and tell them . . . but it was tucked in his belt and he couldn't reach it with his hands strapped down like they were. From the corner of his eye, he saw the tech's formerly friendly face fall rapidly into frustration before there appeared the hypothetical light bulb above his head. He untied one of Chevron's arms and fished out that datapad, holding it out to him. He sighed thinly.

"I suppose it really wasn't fair to leave you without some means of communication," he said.

Oh, how Chevron would've _loved_ to have spit "Damn straight!" into that _di'kutla_ tech's face. He tapped away at his datapad as best he could one-handed.

ON KAMINO, THEY RAN ALL KINDS OF TESTS ON US. THEY ALWAYS USED BIG NEEDLES AND SEDATED US AND . . . IT DIDN'T LEAVE A NICE IMPRESSION ON ME.

"I see," the tech answered, gingerly taking the 'pad away to read the message. He glanced up, eyes no longer quite as friendly as they had been and tone a good bit less forgiving. "Would you prefer to remain as you are with simply a deadened sense of pain?"

Chevron frowned angrily as he snatched the 'pad back. The _nerve_ of this tech!

CURB THE TONE, BUDDY. I MAY BE A RE-CLONE, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T KNOW A FEW THINGS.

The tech glared at him, apparently losing his previous friendly nature and reverting to what was obviously his natural personality.

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," he replied with an apathetic shrug. "Very well; we'll leave you as you are. But we _will_ conduct the tests _as planned_. By the end of them, however, you may wish you'd accepted the larger needle. Sometimes . . . our patients have _less than favorable_ responses."

Chevron peeled his lips back in a faint and silent yet angry snarl as he thunked one spiteful message out onto his datapad.

CAN'T HURT MORE THAN BEING STABBED THROUGH THE HEART WITH A LIGHTSABER.

The tech jumped faintly; he evidently hadn't heard _that_ tale yet. His eyes went wide momentarily before he straightened and stiffened. He simply muttered "We'll see" before he strapped Chevron's free arm back down to the table and he and his assistants left the room. The next sign Chevron saw of them was their faces through a plate-glass window not too far away, seated around some controls. One of them flipped a lever, and the next minute, minor shocks started traveling through the electrodes. At first, they weren't unbearable, but as time went by, they gradually grew worse, stronger, more painful . . . as if that arrogant tech _wanted_ Chevron to suffer. Chevron gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, bearing each shock with ferocity that that would've made the clone troopers of old cringe in shame. He clenched his jaw so hard that the joint popped as the shocks reached and stabbed past that age-old wound. His chest ached miserably, and it was horrifying for him to realize that now, since his rebirth, he'd suffered more pain than he ever had before his death. Yet his thoughts remained on Rogue, his precious _cyar'ika_, and the rest of his family: Larra, the Deltas, Sevvie . . . He cheered himself by knowing that if they were in his boots now, they wouldn't back away in fright. They'd bear this for him just as he was bearing it for them. If he underwent this now, maybe it'd protect the others from future harm by the Empire. So he had to be brave now, for Rogue, for their unborn child, for Lar, Scorch, Boss, Sev, Fixer, Sevvie, Lae, Trent . . . for all of them. Because he _could_. Still the shocks came.

* * *

It was a long time before the shocks stopped and before the other "testing" commenced. Chevron knew this wasn't a real test situation; it was just an excuse for perverted scientists to torture captive soldiers. But by the time it was over, he was just about ready to pass out. When the techs came back and loosened his bonds, setting him free, he could do little more than slide to the ground and lie there in a heap. But then he heard footsteps and looked up to find that head technician standing over him. He growled silently as the tech crouched down beside him.

"Good news," he said, as if _torture_ could be considered "good news." Maybe it was considered that in only the Empire. "You held up better than the others have. The other one we tested at the same time as you . . . He'll be spending the next few weeks in medical _if_ he survived. They had to restart his heart a couple of times. They just don't re-clone 'em like they used to . . ."

Chevron didn't have to ask. He knew. He knew that tech was talking about that copy of Boss, the one he'd quietly called Boss Two. That poor, poor replica . . . He shivered a bit, lying still on the cold lab floor as he tried to regain his breath. Not much could wind him, given his past military training and endurance exercises. Besides, he and Rogue sometimes went for long walks whenever they were home on _Manda'yaim_, and with the hunt sabotage they did, he had plenty of options for exercise. But this . . . this had worn him completely out. He almost thought he felt blood trickling down his temple from where the electrode had been. He shivered again, savoring these moments of less pain and trying to hold the hope that Rogue was coming for him. She _had_ to. She wouldn't just abandon him, not after everything they'd been through together. The tech reached over and took his arm, and Chevron was too exhausted to snatch it back. Instead, he just lay there and let the tech peel the last electrode off his palm.

"Don't fret," he said, as if that would make this easier to bear, "At least _you_ survived. Whatever they did to you when you were created made you tougher than most. But I _am_ surprised that other didn't perform as well . . . After all, _his_ original was just as good as yours."

Chevron wished that the tech would quit talking about the soldiers as if they didn't exist or have feelings. Yet he could not say anything, and he had no strength to get to his datapad. The tech stood and waved over a couple assistants, who eased Chevron onto a hovering stretcher. Chevron had to admit that it felt good to be lying on something that was relatively comfortable in comparison to a floor.

"Bet you'll want to hear the better news now," said the tech. "We're taking you down to surgery. They're going to put in an implant that will bring your voice back. Now, whoever said the Empire was cruel?"

Bring . . . his voice back? For some reason, Chevron couldn't find it in himself to be excited. The Empire had caused him and his family nothing but heartache and pain; why should he believe they would do something _good_ for once? He rolled his eyes because he didn't have enough strength to do anything else, and he didn't fight it as they escorted him away to surgery. He really couldn't, as weak as he felt. He was certain he felt blood on his temple and that it wasn't simply sweat. The head technician followed as they went to the operating room, where he took up a position to oversee the procedure.

"Don't worry," he said, almost mockingly but perhaps faintly genuinely. "You'll be _completely_ unconscious for this one. Won't feel a thing."

An anesthesiologist put a mask of some sort over Chevron's mouth and nose, and the next thing he knew, he was inhaling something almost sickly sweet as his vision blurred. Within a matter of seconds, the beeping of the machines in the room faded to nothing as everything went dark.


	25. Attempting a Rescue

**A/N:** To **Cirex**, who sent me a review which was much too long even though I read it: You don't know the meaning of "AU," do you? This story is not meant to "fit in" with any books other than my own. It is my own chronology and my own universe and plots (with help from **JaxSolo**), and from the Star Wars universe I have chosen elements I favor. _And_ this story is from Rogue's point of view, not my own, so you don't need to be telling _me_ to have more pity on Boba. I rather like him, but I have never read the books you cited nor do I intend to. The purpose of fan-fiction is to explore things beyond the movies. So no more complaining, _gedet'ye_ and _vor'e_.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-four – Attempting a Rescue**

I think "morning sickness" should be renamed "anytime sickness." And why? Because I got sick in the _Falcon_. Well, I had enough warning to ever so casually ask the way to the 'fresher, at which point Solo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, muttered a few directions, and left me to figure out the rest. I got there in time, if you're wondering. And as soon as I was calmed back down and not shaky anymore, I let myself out of the 'fresher. I was planning on being just as suave as I could, but that pretty much went right out the window when I found Skywalker waiting for me. _Osik._ His brows were furrowed concernedly, and I knew right away that he knew this wasn't just an average 'fresher run.

"Are you all right?" he asked me, and I went on defense.

"Sure. Why d'you ask?"

"Because you looked like you weren't feeling well." He paused, looking me over for a while. I knew immediately he'd figured me out. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Well. Of all the _nerve_. I could handle Solo and his arrogance, but this was a little much because it was delving into _very_ personal details. He had no right to know these things! Okay, well, maybe he did since Chev and I _were_ his bodyguards, anyway. But he had _no_ right to go nosing into whether or not I was pregnant! I put on my best sabacc face and crossed my arms. This kid wasn't going to learn _anything_ if I had a say.

"And just what makes you think I'd be pregnant, huh?"

"Any number of things," he shrugged. "I mean, Chevron was worrying over you like he wanted to keep you safe and unharmed."

"He always does."

"_And_ you left the cockpit pretty fast."

"So? When you gotta go, you gotta go!"

"_And_ you're showing."

_Osi'kyr!_ I frowned ever so deeply, trying to calm the feeling that my privacy had just been violated. It was one of those things where I felt like my personal space bubble had just been rather forcefully popped. I wouldn't have minded it one bit if Lar had figured it out (as I was certain she had), but having this . . . this _kid_ find out was a little much for me to take. Maybe he had a right, I dunno, what with my being his bodyguard. The way this was technically supposed to work was that if someone, say, tried to shoot him, I'd take the blaster bolt in his stead. But for some _strange_ reason, people want a girl to avoid stuff like that when she's got an _ik'aad_ on board. Note sarcasm.

I really wanted to fight Skywalker and somehow dissuade him from his belief that I was pregnant, no-never-mind to the fact that I'd quite obviously run off to be sick from evil and wacky maternal hormones. But he kept boring holes through me with those piercing blue eyes of his, and I had no alternative but to acquiesce. Fine. If he were going to be nosy, then _fine_. But I'd swear him to secrecy, and if he _ever_ told anyone, I'd beat the living _osik_ outta him. His _sheb'ika_ could be ever so easily kicked from here to Hoth and I wouldn't even have to break a sweat. But I just sighed and let my shoulders slump.

"Fine," I muttered. "You win. Yeah, I'm pregnant. And good job for figuring it out. I was doin' a great job of hiding it."

"From Chevron, too?" Contrary to what I'd expected, Skywalker actually sounded, well, _concerned_. Huh.

"Nah, he knew. Well, now what?"

There was a moment's pause before Skywalker eased over to me and looked me in the eye, sighing slightly. Uh oh. I knew what was coming. He was gonna tell me how he wanted to make sure I was safe and that he'd ask Leia to give me some maternity leave so that I wouldn't be hurt guarding him . . .

"Look," he began. "I know you're supposed to be my bodyguards, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for your getting hurt and maybe losing your baby."

See? What'd I tell ya?

"And," he continued, "I bet Leia would be more than happy to allow you some leave. I can run it past her, see what she says . . ."

Am I good or what? And yet . . . I didn't protest. I looked up at Skywalker and saw that he was genuinely concerned for my welfare. Well, I hadn't expected _that_ . . . Interesting. Maybe this kid wasn't half bad. And, well, I really wanted to have a healthy baby . . . at home, on _Manda'yaim_, near my family. Personally, I'd rather have Larra's help when that time came than be stuck in some cold Keldabe hospital. It didn't matter that that was my hometown; I've never been a fan of hospitals and other places where they stick you with needles. So I sighed and nodded.

"Okay," I agreed. "Okay. You ask her. I guess . . . I guess I'd appreciate that. But if you say a word to Solo about this, I swear, I will beat you six ways to tomorrow."

Skywalker chuckled but nodded as he swore to keep my secret until we got back to the Rebel fleet. I headed back up to the cockpit, Skywalker behind me, and when we settled in our respective seats, I could hear loud yelling coming from another part of the ship. Well, that explains why Solo and his Wookiee buddy weren't up here flying us. The _Falcon_ was on auto-pilot, but I didn't really trust an auto-pilot setting other than the one the _Chevron_ had. Call me crazy, but I just like my own ship better than other folks'. But as I sat there in the cockpit, I could hear Solo arguing with Chewbacca all the way on the other side of the ship. Those two were obviously trying to jerry-rig the ship's systems back into working order, and Solo was shouting for tool after tool after tool . . . I sighed and glanced over at Skywalker.

"Tell me he's not _always_ like that," I said. Skywalker shrugged.

"Well, I could . . . but I'd be lying."

"That's great," I groaned. "That's just great. Who _knows_ what could be happening to Chev, and he's screaming for hydrospanners."

I rolled my eyes—perhaps a bit _too_ dramatically—as I rested my chin in my palm. Skywalker reached over and patted my arm.

"Hey, I'll bet they just tossed him into a prison cell," he said, trying to be cheerful. I turned and leveled him with an unimpressed glare.

"You do _not_ know the Empire, do you, kid? There's a little thing called 'torture.' The Imps are famous for it."

"Point taken."

Then the cockpit went silent for a while until the comms started blaring and Solo started swearing—both loudly. I leaned over and glanced at a control screen as I realized that there were about a dozen TIE fighters bearing down on us—hard. Oh, _osi'kyr_, we were so screwed . . . I wheeled around and glanced down the corridor.

"Hey, Solo!" I yelled. "We've got Imps on the radar!"

"Oh, ya think?!" Solo yelled back as a blaster shot bounced off the ship.

He came racing into the cockpit, Chewbacca loping in after him. The two of them tried to get the _Falcon_ whipped around and headed in the opposite direction, but those TIEs were hugging us oh-so-closely and we couldn't get away. But Solo _was_ trying, so I had to give him that credit. I glanced out the window only to see the streamlined arrow-like shape of _Executor_ floating dangerously nearby. I swear, I nearly had a heart attack. No, no, no, no . . . ! I . . . would not . . . be . . . _captured_! Not again! Not _ever_ again! _Never!_ I turned and glared as hard as I dared at Solo.

"_Lovely_ job, Solo," I hissed. "Goin' and getting us caught by the very people we've been trying to—"

I broke off as I got a sudden—and very good, if not a bit _jare'la_—plan. Oh, Force, this was perfect . . . This was _perfect_! Aha! Take _that_, you _shabla_ Imperial scum!

"Wait a minute," I said. "Wait one glitterstim-pickin' minute."

I turned and stared out the window, continuing the plot my plan; pretty soon the looming shape of _Executor_ came into view. I couldn't help but notice the way that Skywalker eyed me as I chuckled to myself, putting the finishing touches on my plan.

"Oh, this is _perfect_ . . ."

"Perfect?" Solo snapped at me, still trying to evade the TIEs. "You call this _perfect_?! Our shields are out, weapons at minimum . . . I think I was better off tailin' you two crazies!"

"Oh, shut up!" I barked, feeling my plan seem not so great anymore since I didn't have the advantage of cackling evilly over it. "Don't you see?! That ship _has_ to be where they took Chev! We're gonna get tractored in, and we're gonna get pitched into prison."

"I'm failing to see how that's _good_," Skywalker murmured warily. I smiled wryly at him.

"It's _good_ because we'll probably be near him," I explained. "And if we could break free, we could find a satellite computer port, hack in, shut down the tractor beam—"

"What tractor beam?" came Skywalker's curious question.

_R__ayshe'a_, _cuir_, _ehn_, _t'ad_, _solus_. The _Falcon_ shuddered violently as the TIEs peeled away from pursuing us and moved to escort us. I pointed out the window as if to indicate the invisible tractor beam.

"_That_ tractor beam."

Solo groaned and smacked his forehead with his palm as Chewbacca let out a mournful howl.

"Dammit," Solo grumbled, "why do I always end up on the runs where I get caught and tractored in by the Imps?"

"No idea," I replied. "Anything in your past that would make you target for such things?"

"Oh, I dunno," Solo answered, thickly sarcastic, "Maybe just saving the kid's tail once or twice, _particularly_ during a certain battle where he became a big hero because I was watching his back? Apart from that, there's absolutely nothing."

"Lovely," I replied, equally sarcastic. "Now that we know your record is clean, we can get back to planning this rescue."

Skywalker blinked in something akin to confusion as I rattled on, loving the feel of my mental cogwheels churning away. Ahh, the wonders of fast brain power.

"Now we know we're gonna get jailed," I said. "That's a given. We just need to figure a way to hack into the system, turn ourselves free, disable the beam if only temporarily . . . and grab Chev. Oh, and if we run into my brother, I give you permission to shoot."

"But he's your _brother_," Skywalker murmured, and I couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd learned "_Aliit ori'shya tal'din_" from Lar and the Deltas.

"Yes, that's true," I answered, "but he's also an _aruetii_—traitor—to me, to my family, and that makes him the scum of the galaxy."

"Too true," Solo mumbled with a sigh. "All too true. Still . . . I have a _baaad_ feeling about this."

And he said no more as we drifted ever closer to _Executor_. I had to force myself to stay calm because I immediately started imagining all sorts of horrors the Empire could inflict on us. I had no doubts that Vader wanted me back, and getting Skywalker would be an added perk. Hell, I remembered what my brother had said to me when he'd jumped us on Mandalore; he'd been after Chev _and_ Skywalker. But look who he ended up with. Maybe I was doing a better job at body-guarding than I'd thought.

Not too long later, the _Falcon_ came to a controlled halt inside _Executor_'s bays. Solo wanted to go hide, but I made him stay where he was because I wanted my chance to rescue Chev. "But how do you know he's even there?" you might ask. Well, that's simple. Boba is Vader's pet bounty hunter, right? Right. And _Executor_ is Vader's flagship, and from HoloNet reports, Vader has not left _Executor_ once since the little fiasco over at Yavin 4. He's oh-so-intent upon catching up to Skywalker, and since he's always on his ship, well, I just had an inkling that that would be where I'd find Chev. Anyway, we were hardly docked for five minutes before Stormtroopers came swarming in, and though Chewbacca growled irritably and Solo went for his blaster, I allowed myself to be taken without a fight. And, trust me, that was _so_ hard to do because I've _never_ enjoyed surrendering without so much as a single shot being fired. When the troopers hauled us off to the prison cells, I kept looking around for some sign of Chev, some way I could know where he was. My clue came when I listened to our Stormtrooper guards chat while they led us to our cozy (yeah, _right_) little cell.

"Say, what about that mute traitor they hauled in here? What's the word on him?"

"Ah, they brought 'im outta analysis about an hour ago. The way I heard it, he couldn't even move afterward."

My heart skipped a frightened beat though I forced myself to remain calm. Chev . . . my Chev . . . so brutally tortured and beaten like that . . . I swore to myself that I would _never_, _ever_ let him go through _anything_ like that again. He deserved so much better. But I kept listening, and eventually the Stormies got around to mentioning how he was in cell block D. _Yes!_ I had a location! But then the guards threw us into a cold, dark cell—in block _E_. And, trust me, when you're on a ship as huge as _Executor_, cell block E is a far stretch away from D. It was almost on the opposite side of the prison block. Great. I sat back against the wall in the dark cell, arms crossed.

"Well, this is wonderful," I grumbled, though mostly to myself. "It's perfect."

"I hope _this_ isn't what you had in mind," Skywalker sighed, settling cross-legged not too far from me. I scowled at him.

"Of _course_ it was," I harrumphed, sarcasm and irritation heavy in my tone. "I was planning all along to get us thrown in a dark dungeon."

I paused as my fists clenched. I was so irritated that I could've exploded. How could I not have seen this coming?! Of _course_ the Empire would recognize me and _purposefully_ put me as far away from Chev as humanly possible! And now they had their Rebel prize, too, as well as a couple freebies. Vader was just going to have _such_ fun with us. Somebody remind me to ask Solo to turn his Wookiee buddy loose on that black-shrouded _shabuir_. But I was so seriously torked off that I wheeled around and glared as hard as I could at Skywalker.

"Are you frackin' crazy?!" I exclaimed. "Of COURSE it WASN'T!"

I grumbled under my breath as Solo sarcastically muttered something about how this cell was better than other accommodations he'd had. Someday I'd have to beat him until he was the consistency of _gihaal_. I was about to turn on him and punch him, but Skywalker got between the two of us and grabbed my arm.

"Hey, hey!" he said, attempting the role of peacemaker. "We'll still get out!"

"Yeah, _right_," I grumbled. "High security cell, guards at the door . . . This place is probably even equipped with something to disintegrate us if we try to break out. Looks like I underestimated _everything_ this time. I'd been _hoping_ to end up in _Chev's cell_."

"And it'd be too much to hope that there's someone friendly to the Rebellion in here," Skywalker sighed. "This being the Empire, I imagine they're dancing in the corridors right about now over my capture."

Oh, so the _ad'ika_ finally got an idea of his own value, eh? Now he was catching on. I sighed and nodded, not saying a word. Solo nodded in agreement; we all knew whose "guests" we were. Chewbacca let out a long, sad Wookiee moan, and Skywalker reached out to pat the huge hairy paw. Skywalker suggested we all get cozy, and I knew he was attempting courage in the face of probable Imperial torture droids. I couldn't help but silently praise him for that. I think maybe I'd misjudged him before. He was all right. Maybe if he could find somebody to teach him how to swing his _jetii'kad_ without slicing his own arm off, he'd turn out to be a right fine Jedi. Made me wonder what'd happened to Kenobi, he who had spared my life when I was just an overzealous and grieving little twenty-year-old. Oh, well.

We sat there for several long, silent minutes, anxiously awaiting torture droids that never came. Then again, maybe they were busy on other prisoners. Yet I couldn't help but think how odd it was that the Empire should be wasting time in interrogating us. I thought they'd be busting their humps trying to get their grubby, _etyc_ mitts on the kid. Strange. But as I sat there, I kept turning Chevron's datapad over in my hands. I'd picked it up from the ground before Skywalker, Solo, and I had left _Manda'yaim_ and had kept it in my belt so I could return it to Chev just as soon as we rescued him. But as I looked at it, I realized one very important thing: that datapad was his from his days in the Imperial ranks. It had a permanent connection to the Imp network even though he never capitalized on that anymore. Sure, Sevvie did, but Chev never did. Sevvie had even tinkered with it to ensure that the Imps could _never_ close that connection no matter how many overrides they tried, thus leaving a certain group of _Mando'ade_ with eternal opportunities for mischief-making. I chuckled to myself as I flipped the 'pad on, watching the cell be illuminated by its bright glow.

"Thank the Force he dropped his 'pad," I sighed.

I gazed lovingly at the lighted screen on which the words "Property of Chevron Fett" flashed momentarily. Sevvie had programmed in that little splash screen, and it featured, of course, the four colored chevrons that Chev had once worn on his chestplate. We still had that plate; it was hanging on a wall in our bedroom back home. I've always said that there are two things I'd want to grab from the house in the event of a fire: Chev himself and his old chestplate. Anyway, as I navigated through the datapad, skipping over Chev's personal journal entries and his little photo album of his family (I'd have to give him the very first sonogram of our baby so he could add it), Solo eased over to my side and peered over my shoulder.

"_Whose_ datapad, exactly?" he asked, and I saw Skywalker's mouth form an _O_ of realization. "And what're going to be able to do with just a _datapad_? There's a whole network to squeeze through if you want to try anything, and even then, it'll still only give ya limited access."

"This is Chevron's datapad," I explained. "When my brother took him, he slipped his 'pad off his wrist. I picked it up, and here it is. And even a limited access will be better than nothing. Besides, he's had this 'pad ever since the Empire had him the first time. It's got some sort of a permanent link . . . Or at least it works like that when he's in range of the network. If I could just get in and hack through deeply enough to give me full access . . ."

I trailed off as I typed madly at the datapad for a long time, putting into practice the numerous things Sevvie and Fixer had taught me. Ahh, I loved those two, _ner vode_ in technological mischief. They're awesome. Ahem. Anyway, I noticed with faint amusement that Solo was staring at me, as was Chewbacca. They didn't ask for further elaboration. Skywalker was staring at me, too, but I didn't mind. I knew what they were all thinking, anyway. They were all wondering how in space I'd _ever_ learned to hack things as complicated and hacker-proof as the Imperial network. Well, you wanna know something? Networks can be hacker-proof, but they're never _Sevvie_-proof. And when you get Sevvie and Fixer working together, in a matter of minutes the entire galaxy can be lying bare before them. Personally, I'm surprised that they haven't, say, cracked open a huge bank and stolen countless millions of credits. But then again, I guess living under the same roof as Larra and having her keeping a close eye on you at all times is bound to make you want to behave. And I knew that Lae was taking after her mother in keeping an eagle eye on things, so the two techno masters had two pairs of eyes watching them. No mysterious credit flows yet! Heh, heh.

Anyway, I worked my way through that network for a while, and for all the time it took me, you'd think I'd get full access. Instead, I got limited, just like Solo had predicted. I'd been expecting full, though, which made me wonder if the Imps hadn't tightened security. The firewalls were about ten times stronger than I'd remembered. Well, _someone_ was learning. So I surveyed my limited access and leaned back against the cell wall, keeping an ear tuned to what might be going on outside. If torture droids were on their way, I wanted a chance to get the datapad hidden. I looked up at Skywalker and Solo and waved the datapad around.

"Well, I've got the limited access," I said, consulting the 'pad again and cycling through some cameras, checking out the scene on _Executor_. "Force, what they put in place for security . . . I get the feeling it'll be harder to get full access—What the frack?!"

The reason for my sudden outburst? I'd just cycled to the cam outside our cell and had just seen a _very_ familiar face. No way . . . This wasn't possible . . . That just couldn't possibly be . . .

"_Sevvie?!_"


	26. Get Me out of Here!

**A/N:** **Cirex**, if you happen to read this chapter, here is my answer to your question. Rogue didn't like Boba taking Imperial bounties because she was trying to keep him from becoming too much like Jango. She was trying to keep him from hunting for the blood, which is what she feared would happen if she let him go on his merry way. She had seen the Republic as something good, and because the Empire was its polar opposite, anything they put out was bound to lead into evil. I suppose she was a little like a Jedi in that respect. But I do believe the story _does_ mention _why_ she wanted to keep him from hunting the Imp bounties. Hope that answers your question, but I have one request: next time you have questions, give me an email address or something so I can contact and answer you directly! Thanks.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter, folks. And a very special thanks to my neighbor Nathan, who is about two years younger than I. Without his having heard I was into Star Wars, I never would've read _Hard Contact_. He lent me the book, so I suppose you could say all this is his fault. XD

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-five – Get Me out of Here!**

I stared in horrified and confused shock at the datapad's screen. This . . . this couldn't be possible! Why would Sevvie be _here_?! Unless they . . . Oh, no. If they captured him and brainwashed him . . . I bit my lip as Solo peered over my shoulder.

"Who?"

_Sigh._ Thanks for nothing, Captain Clueless. I rolled my eyes and tapped at the camera, zooming in a bit. Dang, this sure looked like Sevvie . . . The only way it _couldn't_ be was if the Empire took to recruiting shapeshifters, and I didn't know if they'd taken to doing that yet. Anyway, I decided to humor Solo.

"Sevvie," I repeated. "An old friend of mine. He used to be an ARC with Chev."

"_And_ Larra," Skywalker replied confidently. I nodded; he'd been paying attention!

"Right," I replied. "But why he'd be on guard duty on an SSD . . . This makes no sense!"

Sighing, I manipulated the cam's controls via Chev's datapad and zoomed in on our guard's face. I was getting ready to call home and ask Lar if Sevvie were all right when I suddenly realized that this guy, no matter how much he resembled Sevvie, was _not_ him. I knew that much because I certainly know every detail of my friends' appearances! I sighed in relief.

"This _can't_ be him," I said. "Sevvie's got a scar across his jaw. This guy's clean . . . But _Force_! He looks so much like him!"

"Okay, this is just a _little_ bit on the freaky side," Solo muttered. "Why'd the Imps have a copy of your friend here? No sense."

"I—I don't know," I stammered, starting to feel afraid. "Something sure as _haran_ isn't right here, though . . ."

About that time, I glanced back down at the datapad and noticed the guard look up at the camera. Uh, oh . . . He obviously knew what was going on because he turned toward the cell door. I gulped as I shut the 'pad down and tucked it into my belt to hide it. A moment later, the cell door hissed open as the guard stuck his head inside. I noticed that he had his blaster rifle at the ready—in case we tried anything, no doubt. Yet I noticed that here . . . now . . . in person . . . he looked ever so much more like Sevvie!

"Somebody in here using an unauthorized cam control?" he asked.

"Uh, no," I replied as calmly as I could. Skywalker just sat quietly beside me.

"Then why were you zooming that cam in on my face?" the guard asked, totally not taking no for an answer.

Only silence answered him. I wasn't risking torture! Solo just waved slightly, and I rolled my eyes; that man _had_ to be insane. But whatever he was, he was insufferable; I knew that much. Chewbacca grunted once, but that just sounded to me like a nervous grunt rather than anything verbal. But that guard kept looking at me, his gaze unwavering. I sighed.

"What would happen if we admitted?" I said, still trying to be casual. He shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "I'd probably have to report you . . ."

"_Even_ if I told you that you look _exactly_ like a very good friend of mine?" I pressed, and I got the reaction I was expecting. The guard's brows furrowed as he stared at me.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Keeping a cautious eye on him, I carefully pulled out Chev's datapad and flipped it on. Once again, "Property of Chevron Fett" flashed up on the screen, only this time, rather than hacking the Imperial network, I scrolled through his digital holo album as I looked for a picture of Sevvie. I found one after a moment; there was a copy of Sevvie's personal profile in there, so I turned the 'pad around and showed it to the guard. He stared at it for a long, _long_ time, _quite_ like people I know very well! Only we Fetts stare in such a magnetic fashion. But after a few minutes, he looked up at me, brown eyes confused and even a little scared.

"Wh—this is . . . weird."

"Well, not exactly," I said, but then I consented just a touch. "But . . . I guess it is. A little bit, anyway. Did anybody ever tell you you're a re-clone?"

I could see that Skywalker and Solo were wondering where I was going with this. The guard looked at me equally strangely before he slowly nodded.

"Lots of folks," he said. "The sergeants, especially."

At that, he looked a little downtrodden, so I knew he'd no doubt been kicked around, spit on, informed that he was worthless . . . I felt awful for him because nobody deserved that kind of treatment, so I eased up from the floor and dared to go over to him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. But contrary to what I was expecting, he just looked at me with sad, dark eyes instead of shooting me on the spot.

"Think you can help us?" I asked softly. Skywalker tilted his head at me.

"Is that smart?" he asked. "He's with the Empire. They've probably got him programmed to serve without question."

"He's not a _droid_, Skywalker," I said firmly. Force knew I had plenty of experience with situations just like this. Comes from having grown up in a cloning facility. "He's _human_."

"I probably ought to be going anyway," said the Sevvie look-alike. "If the higher-ups come down here and find me in here, I'll be in for it."

He bit his lip as he glanced nervously around the cell and the corridor outside, and he seemed almost as if he were going to just turn around and run. I clasped his shoulder, waving my other hand.

"Wait, wait!" I said. "You don't have to hang around on this ship anymore. Help us and we'll help you, okay?"

Huh. That sure sounded familiar. It sounded like the "sales pitch" I'd voiced to Chev way back when we'd met again and he hadn't known who he was. I thought it'd work again. At first, it did. The guard looked so very interested in what I had to say, but that rapidly faded as he shook his head and his face took on an expression of suspicion. I sighed. Great.

"Oh, boy," I muttered, turning to the others. "Say, Solo. How good are you at convincing guards to help out their prisoners?"

"Oh, please," he grumbled, arms crossed, "with _my_ magic knack of getting caught by Imps _despite_ my not doing anything illegal at those times?"

"Never mind."

Conceited space rogues. Skywalker chuckled under his breath, and even Chewbacca woofed in laughter as I turned back to the looked-like-Sevvie-but-might-not-have-been guard.

"Listen, we're looking for someone," I said. "His name's Chevron, and—"

"Oh, I know him!" the guard interrupted, and my heart swelled with hope. "I was on guard duty the first day he was here. They took him off for analysis earlier; I don't know what's happened since then."

My heart immediately deflated as I inhaled sharply. The way he said the word _analysis_ gave me a _very_ bad feeling in the pit of my gut. I bit my lip, trying desperately not to freak out, but it was difficult because stress was building in me quite rapidly. To put it simply, I was getting _scared_. Oh, my Chev, my Chev . . . Somebody remind me to take perfect care of him until my dying day!

"What _is_ this . . . 'analysis'?" I asked cautiously.

"I don't know," the guard replied. "But the rumors are that it's pretty bad . . . and one of my buddies just went through it too . . . He almost didn't come out alive."

"How can these Imps do this?!" Skywalker asked, starting to sound _very_ twirked and horrified with the Empire. I like to think that he was developing an appreciation for clones and their replicas.

"I don't know . . ." the Sevvie look-alike repeated. "They like to think of us as lab rats."

"Well, _I_ sure as _haran_ don't!" I exclaimed, and the guard looked at me with grateful eyes. "You think you can help us find Chevron, hmm? Then we'll get you out of here. I think your original might like to make your acquaintance, anyway."

"Well . . ." For a moment, I wasn't sure we'd have help. For all I knew, he might've just been leading us on to get enough evidence to shoot us right then and there! That certainly would be the Imperial thing to do! "Hm . . ."

His brows furrowed in deep thought for a few moments before his head jerked up and his gaze latched right onto me. The next thing I knew, he grabbed my hand and gave it a firm Sevvie-style shake.

"Rogue!" he cried. "How the _haran_ did you get in here?!"

But just as soon as he'd said those words, his eyes widened in shock, and I knew why. He'd just remembered everything Sevvie knew. _Osi'kyr_ . . . As if _one_ Sevvie isn't enough for any family! Now there were _two_! Behind us, Skywalker and Solo had matching expressions of astonishment. I just grinned; I had experience with re-clones, after all.

"Okay," Solo began slowly, "is there somethin' you should tell us? _Particularly_ how you know his original . . . but he knows _you_?"

"This is like it was with Chev," I said, smiling at the Sevvie duplicate. "Something they did caused him, a . . . a _copy_ . . . to remember what the original Sevvie knows."

"Oh, Force, that's right!" the duplicate exclaimed. "They've got Chev . . ."

He bit his lip, looking a bit helpless and overwhelmed, but I just grabbed his shoulder. I wasn't about to let him go nuts on me now!

"Can you help us get him out?" I asked, voice hushed.

"I should," the duplicate replied with a confident nod. "Just have to find a console and slice in . . . Then we find him and break him loose . . ."

"And shut down the tractor beam on the _Falcon_," Skywalker added, being ever so helpful. He certainly was better company than Solo was! Remind me to tell him that.

"Aw, that's easy," the duplicate answered, flashing a grin that was so very Sevvie-like. "Give me a few; I'll be right with ya. Gonna have to lock your cell back, though; proper security measures, y'see. Wouldn't do for me to be talking with you dangerous prisoners."

He chuckled and winked at us before turning and dashing out into the hall. The next moment, the cell door hissed shut and we were left in total darkness again, but that was okay. Sure, it was a bit strange that now there were _two_ Sevvies running around the 'verse, but . . . well . . . I was happy that this one was on our side! I grinned to myself and settled back down in my cozy (heh, yeah, _right_) corner of the cell, laughing under my breath.

"Force, I _love_ these re-clones . . ."

"And _why_, exactly?" Solo asked, immediately bursting my bubble. _Osik._

"Where the _fierfek_ have you _been_, Solo?!" I barked, sighing exasperatedly. "Didn't you get it?!"

"Knowing him?" Skywalker mused. "Probably not."

I sighed. Well, this was great. _Just_ great. I'd been explaining this whole situation over and over and _over_ only to be ignored! Solo sure knew how to make a girl feel loved and appreciated!

"All right," I said, getting myself under control. "I don't know what they're doing when the Imps make copies of the original, but somehow they keep ending up with the original's complete memories. That's why he knew me. We practically grew up together! _And_ that's why he knows Chev."

"Because they were in the ARC corps together," Skywalker said with a nod of comprehension. I sighed and threw my hands skyward.

"_Finally_, someone who gets it!" I cried. "_Thank_ you, _ad'ika_!"

"Any time," he replied with a crooked smile. "Now . . . just how is _he_ going to get us out?"

"Sevvie's always been a master at computer slicing," I explained. "He can open up a system in a few seconds flat and have it tap-dancing in a few more. He'll just need to hack in and—"

I was cut off at that moment because the cell door hissed open again. The duplicate of Sevvie dashed in, clutching a datapad and wearing this familiar cocky smirk; Sevvie wore a smirk like that all too often whenever he successfully cracked a computer system.

"Done!" the duplicate announced. "Beam's on its way to shutdown. Got a tag on Chev; I wasn't reading very good vitals, though . . ."

I hissed in a nervous breath but had to force myself to remain calm. No sense in getting too scared yet. Maybe the scanners were broken, anyway. Maybe Chev was okay but the readings were just wrong. Or maybe I was lying to myself to make myself feel better. For all I knew, we could break into that cell only to find him lying in a pool of his own blood. I felt sick to my stomach at that thought. The Sevvie duplicate glanced concernedly before he consulted his datapad and continued to list the things he'd accomplished.

"_And_ I shut down this cell's security," he said.

"What does that mean?" Skywalker asked, and I wanted to say "_DUH!_"

"It means that if you'd stepped out this door," the Sevvie duplicate replied ever so nonchalantly, "the machine gun above it would have mowed you all down."

Well. That thought certainly brings comfort in times of distress. I heaved this relieved sigh; Force knows I don't like getting blasted to bits. It's a little quirk I have; don't worry about it. Solo just frowned, his hands on his hips as he stared down the Sevvie replica. I could tell that he didn't really trust the guy but he was going along with this because he had no other option.

"Well," he said, "I guess it's good to know we have a man on the inside . . ."

Chewbacca nodded rapidly in agreement, howling a Shyriiwook form of "yes, indeed." The duplicate (I wonder if I should call him something else) just smirked. I nodded my own assent.

"Indeed," I said. "Okay, get us down to Chev. Then we'll get him _and_ you out of here lickety-split."

"All right, then," Sevvie Two (oh, that sounds _much_ better) nodded. "Follow me."

And so, him in the lead, we darted from the cell and down the hall. I kept throwing suspicious glances around, wondering if and when other Stormtroopers would arrive to so handily shoot us down. After all, to a trooper totally loyal to the Empire, we would be escaping prisoners, and that's hardly a good reason to show mercy! Trust me, the Empire is not out to make friends. They're out for galactic domination. (Cue dramatic music.)

_Anyway_, we ran down all the back corridors, literally taking the long way around. Sevvie Two explained that this detour was absolutely necessary if we didn't want to get caught—which, of course, we didn't. My, my, aren't we intelligent today? I was looking over my shoulder the whole time, however, even though Sevvie Two ensured us that the coast was totally clear and _even though_ there was a seven-foot-tall _Wookiee_ not two feet off my butt. Skywalker and Solo were on either side of me with Sevvie Two in the lead as we raced down the halls, trying to find our way to Chev's cell so we could get him the _haran_ out of there! I wanted my _cyar'ika_ back so, so badly . . . I wanted him home with me, safe and sound, and I wanted Skywalker to mention my pregnancy to Princess Leia so I could go back to _Manda'yaim_ on a bit of maternity leave. Oh, but wouldn't _that_ be wonderful? I certainly thought so. I even had a name _aaaaall_ picked out for my baby, no matter which gender it was. Maybe I'll go to Keldabe someday and let them tell me so I can know what color blankets to buy. Har, har. But let me say this: the name I like for a boy is _very_ fitting to my past. Oh, yes, indeed.

We ran for a few more minutes down the dark, winding corridors until Sevvie Two skidded to a halt outside a cell at the far end of the block—block D, I noticed. That was where we needed to be. My heart skipped an anxious beat. I nearly fell over, though, when Chewbacca came careening into me; obviously, he'd been running too hard and had picked up too much momentum. But we didn't have a dominos effect; that would've been _bad_ (understatement much?) given our current predicament. But we all ground to dead standstills as Sevvie Two went after the security console outside the cell. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, just _waiting_ for that door to open so I could run in and save Chev.

_Chev, please hold on,_ I thought, nervously watching Sevvie Two work at the security console. _Please, _please_, hold on for me, baby . . ._

It took another five nerve-wracking minutes for Sevvie Two to unlock the door; my guess was that the Empire did _not_ want Chev gone any time soon. But they didn't know that we the "traitors" now had an exact copy of the one and only Sigma-773 on our side! _Sooran, shab!_ Just shows those stupid Imps what the Fett clan thinks of _them_. Heh, heh. _Anyway_, after another few seconds, Sevvie Two stepped back from the console in triumph as the door hissed open. I bolted inside immediately to find Chev . . . oh, my Chev . . . lying there in a crumpled heap. He was beaten literally black and blue, my poor _cyar'ika_. I immediately sank to my knees at his side and gathered him into my arms, holding him close. I started to cry silently as I ran my hands over the new wounds, the welts forming beneath his armor. Now he would have _more_ scars to blemish his skin. I already had seen every other scar and injury he'd sustained in training so long ago. There was this one particularly bad wound he had, though. Let me explain.

Years ago, back when we all lived on Kamino and Chev and I met daily in secret, there was a training sergeant by the name of Walon Vau. He was practically the polar opposite of Kal Skirata, treating the men under his tutelage less like men and more like machines. If they did one thing wrong, they were punished. Vau was cold, cruel, heartless . . . He took pride in stamping out individuality. Then again, I could just be biased because my husband suffered at his hands, but I don't think I'm exaggerating. Why? Because I _saw_ him in action. I _saw_ how he hurt those in his training. I sometimes would go to the training chambers and watch from the catwalks, and once . . . once I saw something absolutely sickening. During one of the training exercises for a commando unit, something went horribly, horribly wrong, and I _knew_ it was Vau's fault—at least, I'd always blamed him. Of the four soldiers who went into the Killing House that day, only one came back, and even he barely survived. I can remember running down the halls to medical after seeing that horrendous sight and peering through the plate-glass walls to see that poor soldier stretched out on the infirmary table, half-dead as it were. I remember watching him, wishing he'd be okay before _Jang'buir_ called me away. And that commando? I met him again. I met him again seventeen years ago when Chev and I escaped _Lusankya_. After Kamino, that man went on to become part of Omega Squad. Lar told me his name once: Atin. Mando'a for _tenacious_. It fits.

Anyway, yes, you got that right: _Chev suffered at Vau's hands_. And how? Well, when he was still quite young, before he'd been chosen for higher training in the ARC corps (I personally think _Kal'buir_ had something to do with that rather literal rescue), Chev was just an ordinary infantry trooper. He was going to become one of those "beacons" or "white jobs," whichever slang you prefer. Once, after a routine drill, the "good sergeant" decided that Chev had done something wrong. Now, an important tidbit you need to know is that Vau owned a _striil_—also called a strill—which is a Mandalorian hunting animal—a really _ugly_ Mandalorian hunting animal with sharp claws and a penchant for drooling. Well, Vau got after Chev, and before Chev could react, that _striil_ was all over him. I think that if I'd known Chev then, Vau would've died by my hand just for that crime. I've seen the scars, though; Chev has these long, ropy scars all across his shoulders and down his back. I always thought it strange that he should have those scars again, given his . . . _unique situation_, but I eventually learned that the Imps had kicked him around in such a way that mirrored the way that _striil'Vau akaani kaysh_—Vau's strill attacked him. So Chev has these awful scars all across his back, and for some reason, they seem to still hurt him. Or maybe, whenever I touch them, it reminds him of what happened, and he feels fear as he did so long ago. Fear and pain. Oh, my baby . . . Never again. I swear it.

Back to the current rescue. I held Chev tightly and even a fair bit protectively, slowly rocking him back and forth. I just wanted him to be all right, and I wanted that _shabuir_ Vader to _pay_ for whatever he'd done to my husband! Someday Vader would have to die; he'd have to be ousted _someday_ by an ambitious underling. On that day, justice will finally be served, and I will at long last be satisfied.

"Oh, Chev," I whispered, smoothing his hair. "C'mon, _cyar'ika_; gimme a sign here!"

Very, _very_ faintly, Chev stirred in my arms, but that just made me clutch him even more tightly. But then I was surprised to hear him quietly groan; he was actually _making_ a sound. Oh, my Force . . . Solo glanced in at him before turning his attention back to the corridor; he and Sevvie Two were watching for any Imps.

"Sounds like he's okay," Solo muttered, and I swallowed hard.

"Sounds . . . Oh, Force." I wanted _so_ badly for him to be able to speak again. "No, no, I won't hope too much. Every time I do, I always end up disappointed."

Skywalker, who was crouched beside me, reached over and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I tried to smile but really couldn't because I was nervous and scared. I ran a hand through Chev's hair and kissed his forehead before watching him for any motion besides the shallow rising and falling of his chest. Nothing.

"I'm here now, Chev," I said, eyes watering. "I'm so sorry I took so long . . . but I'm gonna get you out of here."

The next moment, Sevvie Two came in and took Chev from me, stretching him out on the cell floor. Instantly, I knew what he was about to do. Oh, Force, he knew how to lift him . . .

"Allow me," he said. "The armor doesn't really allow for this, but, well . . ."

He trailed off as he took a breath and proceeded to heft Chev in the chest-to-back style that all the GAR troopers had learned so well. I nearly bawled like a baby at that sight because it was just as if Sevvie were indeed here and helping his brother. Even Skywalker looked amazed, as if he understood the significance that one action held for lil' ol' sentimental me. Chewbacca offered a low, respectful grunt, while Solo just seemed ready to get a move on. Remind me to someday haul off and punch that _ordinii_, all right? Thanks.

Anyway, Sevvie Two staggered a little bit under Chev's weight, and my heart clenched. He was trying so hard because he, too, had all his original's memories, and he just wanted to take care of the man that was now his brother, too. But I knew he wasn't used to hefting a man of Chev's size; I mean, I'm _married_ to him and sometimes he nearly flattens me! Once, just after we'd gotten married, we were trying to get used to sharing one bed without crowding each other. That said, one night he, being asleep, didn't know where I was and rolled over, nearly crushing me. But for the record, he's not overweight. It's all hard, developed muscle, but that makes him . . . _heavy_. Then again, it also makes him a formidable opponent in hand-to-hand combat! But back to our escape.

I moved to offer some help with transporting Chev, but Sevvie Two just waved me off and out of the cell. I hopped out into the corridor, Skywalker on my heel. Solo and Chewbacca were still keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of Imperial troopers. Flicking his wrist, Sevvie Two led us off down the cell block hallway before we reached what seemed like a dead end. He then motioned at the large grate in the wall; I estimated that it'd be big enough for even the huge Wookiee behind me to squeeze through.

"In there," Sevvie Two whispered. "It's a maintenance access tunnel. It's big enough for the cleaning droids, so your Wookiee friend ought to fit through."

Chewbacca grunted in a way that sounded like "I'm not so sure about that," but Solo just patted his companion's big hairy paw. Skywalker helped me wrench the grate away, and the two of us were careful to silence the metallic clanking. Then Sevvie Two ducked and started crawling through the shaft on his hands and knees, Chev still secure on his back. I went in after, then Skywalker, then Solo, and finally the Wookiee. And yes, he fit, but he complained about not having enough elbow room. Solo just told him to quit eating so much.

"Quiet," Sevvie Two hissed at the two. "Just keep movin' and _fast_. We'll end up right next to your ship if we follow this passage long enough."

"I sure am glad _you_ were on guard duty," Skywalker murmured. Sevvie Two glanced once over his shoulder and nodded.

"So am I," he sighed. "But let's pick this up a bit. Vader's not gonna be happy to find all of us gone."

"I should say not," I replied with a scoff. "I mean, why should he be, losing his two most coveted prizes in one fell swoop? But let's just worry about getting out of here. _Then_ we'll plot how we'll kick his _shebs_ from here to the next century."

Sevvie Two smirked at me and nodded before turning back around and leading the way through the shaft once more. The whole time, I couldn't keep my eyes off Chev. What'd the Empire done to him? Were all those welts and new scars products of that "analysis" that'd been mentioned? Was he going to be all right? I kept telling myself that he _would_ be all right; that was the only thought that kept me from hyperventilating! I paused momentarily mid-crawl and reached out to gingerly touch Chev's hand. He stirred ever so indistinctly, and that made me breathe a silent sigh of relief. At least he was responsive. Skywalker grabbed my shoulder from behind and, when I turned to look at him, gave me an understanding smile. Sure, he might've been an arrogant, self-assured, know-it-all little punk when we'd first met, but now I could see that there was a very strong chance that he'd mature into a man of Mando-like quality. And, knowing who I am and how I see the galaxy, that's quite a compliment to be bestowing on him.

We kept crawling through that maintenance shaft, and about halfway through I started getting tired. And, well, it was _hot_ up in there, so sweat was dripping down my neck and making being pregnant _very_ miserable. Oh, Force, would I _ever_ be glad to get back home for some much-needed vacation . . . I swear, if I ever have any more kids, I'm going to sit in an armchair for the full nine months! Yep, I've learned my lesson. Next time, if there even _is_ a next time, I'll sit in an armchair near the 'fresher. With a tray of _uj'alayi_ for when those cravings hit. But I'm getting off the subject _again_.

We crawled for a long, _long_ time; upwards of ten minutes, at least. I was beginning to wonder when the Stormtroopers would be in the shaft behind us when Sevvie Two came to a halt and reached up, knocking out a grate with his armored fist. The grate clattered to the floor of the shaft, and, Chev still on his back, Sevvie Two scrambled up through the hole above us. Skywalker scurried up next, reaching back to help me out, assistance for which I was grateful. When I poked my head out of the little hidey hole, I found that we had come up through the maintenance hatch _right beneath_ the _Millennium Falcon_. Talk about perfect timing and navigational skills on Sevvie Two's part, eh? I turned and grinned at him, careful not to say anything lest there be Stormtroopers about, but he nodded in comprehension and just shrugged in an "Eh, it was nothing" sort of way. Solo glanced around; no troopers in sight. Well, that was an even break, I suppose. Then again, those troopers were probably ripping _Executor_ to shreds looking for us! I glanced almost nervously at Chev then at Solo.

"_Tell_ me you've got a place Chev can rest," I said to him as we all sneaked out and crept around to the boarding ramp.

"Sure; there's a bunk over in the main hold," Solo replied, then eased over to Sevvie Two as the ramp came down. "Here, I'll try . . ."

I watched in amusement as he tried to heft Chev off Sevvie Two's back, but he staggered under Chev's ARC-honed bulk. I personally know that he's got a perfect set of six-pack abs, so why shouldn't he be a little bit hard to lift? I was surprised that Sevvie Two had been able to carry him for so long. Then again, that chest-to-back method was always hailed as the best, easiest way of lifting a heavy man and carrying him for extended periods. Ahh, thank the Force for military training. But since Solo was having trouble, Chewbacca came over and almost effortlessly hefted Chev, and the two of them slinked into the _Falcon_ as stealthily as a conniving space rogue and his Wookiee friend could. Sevvie Two watched them haul Chev off before he turned to me and clasped my hand.

"Okay, good," he said, meaning that we'd gotten Chev someplace relatively safe. "I'm goin' back to make sure that tractor beam's down and that nobody messed up my handiwork."

"Are you sure that's smart?" Skywalker asked, clapping him on the shoulder but keeping his voice to a minimum.

"I agree," I said. "Just come with us. It's _got_ to be down."

"No can do," he said with a shake of his head. "This is smarter than trying to make a break for it and getting caught again."

Oh. Well, he had a point there. As much as I hated to see him go, I really didn't have an option. Besides . . . I'd wanted to see Sevvie's face when he met his copy! For all I knew, the grand master of technology might've even _fainted_! But I just shook Sevvie Two's hand and offered a grateful smile.

"Good luck, then," I said. "And _vor'e_. Thank you. For everything."

He smiled at me and nodded, darting away as fast as he dared. I watched until he disappeared down a corridor, then I ushered Skywalker onto the _Falcon_. There was no sense in waiting around, anyway. As long as we were on the ship, we were reasonably safe from the Imps. The way I figured it, if they came after us, we could lock the ship and open fire on them. That'd be _fun_. Anyway, as I entered the ship, I immediately went for the main hold. Chewbacca met me with a grunt about halfway there, motioning for me to follow him. My stomach turned a somersault; that could only mean something was wrong with Chev. Skywalker went up to the cockpit as I followed the huge, lumbering Wookiee to where Solo had managed to get Chev onto a bunk. He had tugged down the protective collar of the bodysuit underneath Chev's battered armor and was inspecting his throat. I crouched down beside Chev, reaching over and smoothing his hair. Solo glanced at me before pointing at Chev's throat, and then I saw what he saw: Chev's throat looked _horrible_. There were two long scars down the sides that indicated incisions of some sort, and the scar made by those Trandoshans looked oddly redder. I swallowed hard; this was not good by any stretch of the imagination.

"Is his neck _supposed_ to look like that?" Solo asked me as I bit my lip. "Looks worse than it oughtta . . ."

"N—no, it _shouldn't_," I replied, answering his question. "There was just a scratch there before . . . Oh, Force. What'd they do to him?!"

I reached over and gently touched Chev's throat with my first two fingers, sighing. If I could've waved my hand and instantly fixed _everything_ with that one motion, I would've done it in a heartbeat.

"If we can get some bacta on this," I said, "it'd probably help."

I'd no sooner said that than Chev's eyes flickered open, and a wave of relief washed over me. At least he was conscious now; that made me feel a hell of a lot better. His gaze immediately latched onto me, and he blinked several times in what seemed like surprise before he broke into a fit of violent coughing. My brows furrowed with worry as I reached over and just held his hand, giving it a squeeze. Solo almost magically produced a glass of water, which Chev readily gulped down. When the water was gone and the coughing had abated, he took a few ragged, wheezing breaths. My heart clenched in sympathy as I stroked his hair. Oh, I'd missed him even though we hadn't been separated _that_ long. But what can I say? When your life's been as chaotic as mine has, you eventually reach a point where _any_ prospect of losing the person you love more than anyone else in the galaxy is just completely intolerable. Now I just hoped we could all get out of here soon and go home.

"_Udesii_, Chev," I murmured, leaning over and gently kissing his forehead. "It looks like you've been through a lot—too much. But I've got you now. You're okay."

I gave his hand another squeeze, and I certainly would've kissed him right on the mouth if not for two things: one, Solo was there, and two, Skywalker came racing in right as I was leaning in.

"We need to move it _now_," he announced hurriedly. "Our friend's back, but he's being trailed by an entire platoon of Stormtroopers _and_ Vader!"

Well, that sure put a kink in my happy ending.

"_Vader?!_" I exclaimed, none too happy about _that_. "_Haar'chak!_ Chev, stay here for a minute!"

That said, I leaped up and ran for the boarding ramp as Solo and Chewbacca dashed for the cockpit to get us the _haran_ gone. I stuck my head out of the ship, waving Sevvie Two onward. He was running flat-out down the adjacent corridor trying to evade those blasted Stormies, all of which were shooting madly at him because Vader was right behind them barking kill orders left and right. The first thing I noticed was that Sevvie Two looked _scared_. He didn't want to die, and I didn't want to let him!

"C'mon!" I cried. "Hurry it up!"

"Can't!" he cried back in between gasps for air. "Get going; I'll find some other way!"

"No, you come here _NOW_!" I barked, never one to take no for an answer. "We're going and we're taking you with us!"

The Stormtroopers started pouring into the hangar bay, catching up to Sevvie Two with every step. I whipped out my blaster and returned fire on them, taking a few troopers down with several well-aimed shots. I still yelled for Sevvie Two to hurry, to come on, to just get away, and he was still running for the ship. He was almost to the _Falcon_, almost to us . . . when Vader ordered his troopers to set their rifles to stun. There was a shower of blue bolts, and Sevvie Two went down.


	27. Jorad

**A/N:** I can't believe it's over! I honestly shed tears over this chapter because it _is_ the end. Well, it's the end of Rogue's adventures, anyway. Perhaps hope rests on her child. But I'd like to thank all my readers, my reviewers, those who added this humble trilogy to their favorite stories...

And I should LOVE to thank **JaxSolo** for all her help, for role-playing these plots with me, for helping me with ideas... for pretty much being my "partner in crime" and my idea-bouncing wall. Dang, the words "Clearance to Lar means clearance to all attached to her!" was the greatest permission slip I've ever gotten.

And **Karen Traviss**. If she hadn't written _Hard Contact_, I never would've cared about clones. They never would've mattered to me. But by breathing life into those men, she opened up a whole new portal of imagination for me. God bless her.

Stop me before I cry again and go read this final chapter! Love, Steph—aka Tatooine92.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-six – **_**Jorad**_

I don't know what you would've done were you in my boots, but I certainly was _not_ going to leave my new friend behind! There was no way this side of the Unknowns that I was going to let him die at the Empire's hands! My family and I have suffered _enough_ because of them; I wasn't about to let this one—who could be a part of the Fett clan, too—suffer, either! Perhaps it was because he _was_ Sevvie's copy. Perhaps I felt connected to him in a brother-sister sort of way because Sevvie the First was Lar's brother, and she was my sister-in-law, so that made him _my_ brother . . . It's complicated. But what _wasn't_ complicated was that I wanted so desperately to make sure that Sevvie Two would be okay. I jumped down off the loading ramp, whipping out my other blaster and continuing to blast through the Stormtroopers that just kept coming. I don't know _what_ possessed _Jang'buir_ way-back-when to get blasters so tiny and relatively fragile-looking, but they sure could pack a punch! The _Falcon_ lurched; obviously we were getting ready to take off. That just made my heart beat faster. Why in the _world_ would they want to just _leave_ him after everything he'd done for us?! I kept shooting, in turn taking a blaster bolt to the forearm, but it was stopped by my armor. Vader was getting closer, and there were still more troopers coming . . . but I was taking one down every couple of seconds. Trust me, there ain't much that can stop a blaster bolt to the forehead—not even a pristinely shiny white helmet. I would fend _all_ of these jerks off _by myself_ if I had to!

But then I felt a hand on my arm, dragging me back toward the _Falcon_. It was Solo; in a strange moment of what seemed like relative selflessness, he'd come out of his cozy little ship to haul me away from that scene.

"We're outta here now!" he barked at me. "If we need to, we'll come back! But we have to leave NOW!"

He started dragging me back to the boarding ramp, but I started thrashing against his grasp. I wasn't going to leave Sevvie Two to die, not if I could do something about it! Already Stormtroopers were swarming around him, inspecting him, getting ready to take him back . . . I didn't want to leave him! I'd _promised_!

"But we can't leave him!" I screamed, trying to fight Solo off. "He saved us; _we can't leave him!_"

I'd never abandoned anyone like that before. Leaving someone behind just wasn't the way I did things! That wasn't _me_! It wasn't in my code of conduct, and it certainly wasn't fair! I kept fighting Solo but to no avail; he certainly had a strong grip. I was almost on the loading ramp—quite against my will, I might add—when Chevron was suddenly there. He shoved Solo away from me and took me in his arms, rather forcefully scooping me up and carrying me into the ship, slamming the controls as Solo dashed off to get us moving. Maybe I was going just a bit insane; after all, I'd just watched a man who was practically my brother fall trying to free the rest of us! Whatever the reason was, it so drastically affected me that I actually fought _Chev_. Never had I struggled to get away from him. Never had I tried to get out of his arms, but this time I did as I wrenched myself free of him and ran to the cockpit, babbling that we had to go back, had to get him! _Executor_ was in our space dust; that was how fast the _Falcon_ was going. Solo was trying to get us out of range of either _Executor_'s weaponry or her tractor beam, and Chewbacca was shooting at any TIE that dared to come near us. _Executor_ kept getting father and father away, and Sevvie Two with her. When the _Falcon_ jumped to hyperspace, I sank to my knees on the cockpit floor in a near daze, biting my lip.

"We shouldn't have left him," I whispered, and Skywalker gazed sympathetically at me.

"We had no other choice," he said softly.

I didn't say anything in reply; I just sighed. This wasn't fair. Sevvie Two hadn't deserved that! He'd only wanted to be away from _Executor_ and Vader, after all. He'd only wanted a real life. He'd only wanted _freedom_. For the past seventeen years, I'd dedicated my life to helping persecuted people all across the 'verse find their freedom. And now, when I'd had the chance to help someone who, as Chev had so long ago, had remembered his real life, his real past, I'd failed miserably. Just as I buried my face in my hands, Chev knelt down in front of me, gently pulling me to himself and just holding me. Oh, Force, it felt so good to be back in his arms again, but I couldn't think of anything but how we'd left Sevvie Two. His chest heaved, and I almost thought I heard a real, audible sigh come out of him, but I was too swept up in everything to notice. I just buried myself in his shoulder.

"He was just . . . so much like Sevvie," I whispered, and Chev nodded as he gently rubbed my back. "Force, this is gonna gnaw at me for the rest of my life."

"Don't let it," Skywalker said, reaching down and squeezing my shoulder. "He helped us escape; that's what we need to remember. And besides, you got Chevron back."

I smiled up at Chev, feeling this cool relief wash over me.

"Yeah. I guess I did."

Chev's shoulders just trembled with a sigh as he held me tighter, and I held him equally tight. I didn't want to let go because being without him . . . well, that was like death for me. Skywalker cheerfully informed me that he wouldn't even _try_ to sense Chev's thoughts so that he and I could have privacy. I expressed my gratitude, and he just smiled at me before scampering off to call the princess. Solo was ignoring me, and Chewbacca had loped off to get something to eat, so Chev and I were basically alone. He held me so tightly, gently rocking me back and forth, and I closed my eyes as I reveled in his embrace. Yep, seventeen years of marriage does that to folks: it makes them rather fond of each other. I was trying to put Sevvie Two from my mind for the time being and just enjoy Chev's presence, and I was starting to doze off in Chev's arms when I heard a strange sound: someone was _humming_. My eyes flew open as I looked around the cockpit. It wasn't Solo, and Skywalker wasn't back yet. That only left . . . My jaw dropped as my eyes went wide, and I latched my gaze right onto Chev. My arms still entwined about his neck, I searched his eyes for a long minute, trying to fathom this. It wasn't . . . why, it just wasn't possible! Force knows I believe in miracles, but . . .

"Chev!" I sputtered. "You . . . you're _humming_!"

I just stared at him inquisitively, trying not to let my hopes get too high. There was always the chance that it _hadn't_ been Chev's voice that I'd heard, but for goodness' sake, I'd _felt_ him forming those sounds! But he blinked, almost in surprise, as he touched his neck. After a moment, his eyes widened fractionally, and I suddenly remembered how his throat had had two new scars on it. Oh, Force . . .

The next thing I knew, Chev climbed to his feet and held out his hand. I took it, and he helped me to my feet before leading me off to another part of the ship. The _Falcon_ was of similar—but far from identical—in design to the _Chevron_, so Chev seemed to automatically know his way around this vessel. He led me to a dark, quiet part of the ship; it looked to me like the main circuitry bay. Well, it certainly was private; after all, who _ever_ came to the circuitry bay for anything other than maintenance? But once we were there and completely alone, he looked at me and rubbed his neck again. By now, I was getting nervous. It seemed highly unlikely that the Empire would _ever_ do something to benefit their worst enemies. I took a deep breath and reached up to slowly stroke his hair. I wanted to ask but was so scared to . . .

"Chev," I said slowly, "I don't want to get my hopes up, but . . . Did the Empire do something fairly _good_ for a change?"

I put my hand across his, over his neck, and just gazed at him. He took several short breaths as if in surprise and swallowed hard. My heart was pounding in my ears as he hesitantly opened his mouth, and then . . .

"I . . . I think . . . so . . ."

Oh, sweet Force! He grabbed his throat in shock, and my jaw dropped. His voice . . . Oh, my Chev's voice . . . It sounded so . . . so _good_, so clear, so very beautiful . . . It sounded just as it always had; it was as if the Imps had cloned new vocal cords for him from his own tissue! But, oh, his _voice_! It was sweet, sweet music to my ears! I'd so missed hearing him . . . I inhaled sharply as tears of joy started cascading down my face, and it was totally instinctual when I flung my arms around his neck and embraced him as tightly as I could, squeezing my eyes shut. Oh, my Chev . . . _ner cyar'ika_ . . . He had his voice—_kaysh jorad_—back at long last. My heart fluttered in anticipation of perhaps soon being able to let him just hold me and murmur sweet nothings in my ears. Trying to live without hearing his voice was like trying to live without breathing.

But as tightly as I was squeezing Chevron, he was hugging me equally so. I was weeping with happiness into his shoulder, clinging to his neck as if there were no tomorrow. Warm tears splashed against my backplate; he, too, was crying joyous tears. That only prompted me to hug him more and harder.

"I . . . I can," he breathed, beginning to tremble. "Oh, Rogue . . . Rogue, I love you . . . love you so much . . ."

"I love you too!" I bawled, letting go of all control over my emotions and letting everything just come flooding out. "Oh, Force, I missed you . . . I missed hearing you say that . . ."

I trailed off, unable to say more as I just nestled into his arms, letting him just hold me. Oh, but wouldn't it be _wonderful_ when Larra and the Deltas found out? We'd have to have a big celebration! And now I knew that we could invite _Kal'buir_ and his boys to join in the festivities. Then a gentle kick in my middle reminded me that soon we'd have another reason to celebrate. I pulled back from Chev, a smile lighting up my face, as I took his hand and pressed it against my abdomen. A huge, beaming grin crested on his face as he felt the faint motion within me, and the next moment, I was back in his arms, pressed close to him and tucked safely under his chin. He hugged me for another long, sweet moment before he gazed down at me, took my chin in his palm, and tilted my face to him. Then he kissed me for a long, slow, wonderful few minutes. Oh, Force, it felt _so_ good to be able to kiss him like that and not care if anyone saw. It was like being back on Kamino, I suppose. I just wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, sighing contentedly and deepening that already perfect kiss. I'm not sure I can explain the sheer bliss I felt; I just knew that I had a sudden, overwhelming sense of optimism and joy. It was like a firecracker had gone off inside me. And the thing that stood out the clearest in my mind was the sudden realization that we were going to be all right. We were headed back to the Rebel fleet and would go home as soon as the princess gave us clearance; I was carrying my precious husband's child; he had his voice again . . . It was absolutely indescribable to know that we would be okay. We'd be fine. We were together, and that was all that mattered.

Oh, do you remember how I said I had favorite baby names and how the one for a son would be quite fitting to my past? If it _is_ a boy, I shall name him Tor Kal—justice blade. I wouldn't be surprised if you someday heard of him, too.


End file.
